


Roger Taylor (both Queen & BoRhap) Imagines/One-Shots

by harurisons



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 64,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harurisons/pseuds/harurisons
Summary: This book contains writings about Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor and Roger Taylor. They're over a year old, most of them, and some I'm really proud of. I know there are people that still read these, so here ya go! Enjoy :)
Relationships: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor/Reader, Borhap!Roger Taylor/Reader, Roger Taylor/Reader
Kudos: 8





	1. Family Meeting

Roger sighs nervously, adjusting the stupid tie around his neck. I chuckle, not able to help myself. He glances at me through the mirror with a raised eyebrow. “You’re too nervous, hon.” I say to him and he looks back at himself. “It’s not like my parents are the Queen or something.” You tell him.

While he’s dressed in a suit—a crazy idea of his, which you didn’t support—you’re in a simple jeans and blouse. Your parents are very casual people, at least first hand, and so there’s no need to put too much of an effort. Actually, people like that scare them away and make the wrong impression. You tried to talk Roger out of wearing the suit, but he was inconsolable. You gave up three times already.

And Roger is, of course, the rock star. Your parents know that, and it, naturally, doesn’t change their opinion on him. They’ve never met him, but like to believe he’s the best guy for you. Which Roger will prove them right, eventually.

“Ah, but you are the princess, though,” Roger says, finally turning around to you. You lean back further onto your arms that rest on your bed mattress and look at him. A smile appears on your features.

“Well, you are very handsome.” You say to him with admiring eyes looking into his blue ones. He chuckles.

“Thank you,” Roger responds, “I know. I’ll only give the best to the best. And I do have to make a good first impression.” He says and you laugh. 

“You get verbal when you’re nervous.” You say and stand up. It’s five minutes until you two have to go. 

“Oh do I?” Roger raises his eyebrows. You sooth your hands over his shoulders, following them with your eyes, and then look into Roger’s eyes. “Could it be because I usually don’t talk and when I’m nervous, I talk and maybe then I’m my best self because you find out lots more about me than regularly?” He offers with raised eyebrows and you laugh, hard. Roger’s really talking too much when he’s nervous. 

You wrap your arms around him. “I know everything about you, which means my parents will love you and you’ve got nothing to worry about.” You tell him, trying to achieve him relaxing in your arms, but he’s still a bit tense. You sigh. “Roger, really. They’re not horrible and won’t play any pranks or any of that sort on you.” You assure and pull yourself back to look at your pretty boyfriend. “You’ll be great.” You say, brushing his hair and giving him a kiss. He relaxes at that, though, and it makes you glad and a bit annoyed at the same time. He rests his forehead against yours once your lips are pulled away from his. Roger sighs.

“I just… It’s hard to meet your parents’ standarts, and I know all parents have hidden standarts for their daughter’s boyfriend.” He says, adding the second part before you could object. You sigh quietly, defeated. “Even your nice mum and cool dad have some hidden, unspoken standarts of how they’d like me to be. I just don’t want to fail them.”

You smile comfortingly. “You won’t.” You tell him. Roger’s face softens at your words. “Just tell them all the gory details about sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, and they’ll be happy.” 

He laughs at that, and you’re glad he does. You smile and take his hand in yours before walking out of the room with Roger. He’s got no choice but to follow you. He checks the clock on your nightstand, which you’d done seconds before, and sees that it’s really time for you both to leave.

“Hi, my name’s Robert.” Your dad extends his arm towards Roger, and your boyfriend gladly shakes it. “You can call me Rob.”

Roger nods. “I’m Roger. Roger Taylor.” He says and now your dad nods. 

“Well, I know that, but nice to meet you, anyway.” Your dad says and the two men laugh. You’re pleased that Roger isn’t visibly freaking out. You never would have thought he’d be so nervous to meet your parents. 

You stand by your mum, Maria, who holds your waist as you’re leaning your head on her shoulder. There’s a smile on your lips, and she notices that detail.

“I should tell you, Roger’s very nervous for some reason.” You tell her when you both walk to the living room. Roger and your mum are already acquainted and he’s given the gift he’d bought but didn’t tell you about - a bottle of champagne and box of chocolates. You would have told him that your mum’s trying to keep your dad off sugar, but no, he wanted to make a good impression. Well, he certainly did, a true impression of himself at that. 

Your mum chuckles. “I understand why, but really, he shouldn’t.” She responds. “We’re just regular mortals.” She says and you both laugh. You’re at the dining table and you take a seat in your regular place, across from where your dad’s supposed to always sit. When he and Roger come into the dining room, dad takes his rightful place next to Maria and across you, and Roger sits down next to you and in front of your mum. 

You look over at Roger and give his hand a squeeze and he smiles at you. You can still spot the nervousness in him, and so you turn back to your parents.

“I’ve made a classical northern-french dish which Y/N used to love when she was younger.” Your mum says and you smile at the memory of telling her about it. You couldn’t figure out the name for such a long time, until you accidentally stumbled upon it in a magazine. But you still can’t keep the title in your mind. “So, Roger, I hope you eat potatoes and pulled meat.”

He nods eagerly. “I do.” He replies. “But what’s pulled meat?”

“It’s when you just basically tear the piece of meat to shreds with your hands.” Your dad answers before you can even try to, helping your mother fill each of your plates with the french dish. “In restaurants, I’ve heard they have a machine for that, but you know, it’s a waste of money if you can do it on your own.”

Roger nods. “Interesting. Maybe we could try that sometime?” He looks at you with questioning eyes. 

“Sure, love. Don’t know if it’ll be as perfect as mum’s.” You admit and the four of you chuckle lightly. 

“It smells amazing.” Roger says, looking at your mum, and she just smiles. 

“Then let’s not waste any time.” Your dad says, lifting his fork and knife to his dish and starting to pick it bit by bit apart. 

“Enjoy your meal.” Your mum says and you all hum in response, mouths full of food already. 

After you, Roger and dad have moaned about how delicious mum’s-made dish is and she’s thanked you, the conversation can begin. Your plates are empty and you’re sipping mum’s famous fruit punch from whiskey glasses. You like that detail, since it’s still a running joke between you both. 

“Yes, when Y/N was younger, I told her to set the table because dad’s colleagues were coming here for dinner,” your mum starts to tell the story, “and she thought that they’d be having proper dinner, like, alcohol and you know—all that.” Roger nods, listening intently while you smile already. “And so she put down whiskey glasses on the table. But I never noticed!” Your mum’s eyes light up. “And which drinks were I serving?”

“Water and this punch.” You and your dad say at the same time. Everyone laughs and you’re blushing in slight embarrassment. “It’s still funny.” You state and Roger nods, looking at you with that beautiful smile of his. His hand is on your back, slowly moving up and down. 

“When I was little, about six years old, I used to bang my ma’s knitting needles against her pots and pans.” Roger tells your parents and they both laugh warmly. “My first experience with drumming.”

Your dad laughs a fat chuckle. “Were you born wanting to play drums?” He asks and Roger nods.

“It was really the first thing I can remember thinking.” He says. “I was telling everyone ‘I’m gonna be a pop star!'” Roger chuckles at the memory, and your mum smiles at that.

“I know it’s a banal question and you’re sick of hearing it, but,” your dad begins, “how hard is it? Drumming?”

Roger hums, “Well, really, it’s hard at the beginning. As is everything, the start is hardest. But it’s easier if you love what you’re doing. Then it’s learning and enjoying it and it becomes, like, a natural thing.” He tells. “The rhythm has to be felt, and after a while it feels like the rhythms are sitting in your chest and you can just bring it out. I think it’s different for each drummer, but that’s how it feels to me.”

“Very interesting.” Your dad says, nodding. “I remember Y/N wanted to play drums when she was a teenager.” 

“Really?” Roger turns to you. “You’ve never told me that.”

“Yeah, because it connects to a stupid incident.” You reply and shake your head. Roger furrows his eyebrows, a smile stretching his lips, and looks at your dad. He smiles wide and looks at his wife, who only nods with her head to encourage him to tell another story.

“Well, the lessons were at a church.” Your dad begins. “A very, very strict church. We went there together and I told her I’d wait outside. Y/N went inside and looked for the drum room, but there wasn’t any. She presumably saw a cult meeting and ran out, very freaked out.”

“Not presumably, dad, I saw a bloody cult meeting.” You correct him. “There were candles and chanting and I was just… spooked, so I ran out.”

Roger laughs. “But did you find the drum room?”

“No, I did not, Rog,” you say, a breathy chuckle escaping your lips, “I gave up on drumming all in all.”

“She liked to say she had a trauma from that.” Your mum chimes in and you sigh, defeated. Your parents and Roger chuckle at you. 

“I could still teach you if you want.” He offers and you raise your eyebrows. 

“Careful there,” your dad says, “you might teach her so well she’ll replace you.” All four of you laugh at that. “Y/N’s really good at learning.” You nod, knowing that’s the absolute truth.

“Now, who’s up for dessert?” Your mum asks after standing up from her seat. You smile at her, and your dad tells her that everyone is. Roger keeps a smile on his face and looks at you. Your eyes seem to be asking 'it’s not so bad, is it?’ as you look back at him.


	2. Care For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger looks after his love after she's had a serious feet injury.  
> Warnings: medical stuff, post-surgery pain.

“Ow, ow, ow, that hurts!” You wince, your grimace changing and Roger immediately stopping his movements. The medicated cotton pad stains his fingers and he looks at you through his glasses.

“It stings, doesn’t it?” He asks and you nod, face still pulled in a pained expression. “It’ll be over in a jiffy, we have to clean up the bruise, love.” Roger tells you and you groan, not wanting to endure anything uncomfortable anymore, although your everyday life for the next month or two will be nothing but uncomfortable. “Hold on to the pillow, squeeze it as tight as you need.” You nod, giving up and Roger concentrates back on your foot. “Ready?” He asks and you nod again. 

The dark brown essence cuts through the cotton pad and leaks onto your sensitive skin and flesh under it. You groan, feeling tears coming, and squeeze the pillow so thight that you could slash it open. The essence stings so bad, it feels like your feet are on fire. You hate the feeling, but you have to bear it. For your own sake.

Two days ago, you were released from the hospital where surgeons cut out the grown-in nails in your big toes and some other fingers. Yes, it’s very detailed and disgusting, but it had to be done, otherwise there was a threat of amputatin your toes. And you’d like to have them in place very much.

You hiss and sigh when Roger’s done with the procedure and you fall against the couch, a wave of relief washing over you. Roger leaves to throw out the cotton pads and wash his hands, and you look at your disgusting-looking toes. “Blergh.” You say and withdraw your eyes from the sight. And they smell, too, thanks to the medication and flesh and everything else.

Roger comes back and you look at him. “I never want to do that again.” You tell him while he wraps your toes in pads and gauze. Roger raises his eyebrows, sighs and shrugs.

“We both know that’s not possible.” He tells you and you nod, letting out a pained hum. “At least it’s me that’s doing it.”

“Well, you would be a doctor if you hadn’t become a drummer, so you’re just as horrible as them.” You say. Roger chuckles. 

“Hey, it’s the medication that’s mean, not us.” He defends himself. “Besides, your home doctor’s not so horrible at giving orgasms, isn’t he?” Roger winks at you and you poke him with the heel of your foot. He laughs. 

“How is it looking down there?” You ask, biting your lip from the inside in nervousness. 

“Ugly and stinky,” Roger replies and you sigh, “but, it’s started to heal.”

“Already?” You widen your eyes. He nods and finishes patching you up. He comes to lay next to you on the couch. “I’m sorry that you have to go through all that.” You tell him and Roger looks at you, shaking his head. 

“Don’t you apologise.” He says to you and you let out a quiet ‘humph’. Roger traces circles into your shoulder, his arm over your frame. You lean your head into his neck, relaxing. “You had to bear that horrible pain for more than three years—which I still don’t understand—and you’ve finally got rid of it. Surgeries are never pleasant, so don’t apologise to me for the things I have to do for you.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll try not to.” You tell him. “It’s already unbearable for me, so I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to.”

Roger shakes his head again. “With you, that’s never going to happen.” He says. You smile.

“There was even a possibility of me never walking again.” You say quietly, huffing afterwards.

“Don’t think about that, my darling.” Roger says. “But I’d always be your legs if you couldn’t walk, and I promise you that. After a month or two, when you’ll be completely back on your feet, that thought won’t even cross your mind. You’re going to be alright.” He tells you and bumps your nose with his, making you giggle. Roger then stands up, puts his hands on his hips and looks down at you. You pout at losing him on the couch. He sees you’ve brought out your lower lip and sighs. “We gotta go to bed.” Roger tells you and you roll your eyes. “C'mon, sit up, and let’s go.” 

You do as he says, and Roger puts one of his arms on your back, gripping your arm, and the other slips under your knees. He lifts you with ease and starts to carry you to your shared bedroom. You smile at him, watching his beautiful face as he looks at where he’s going. 

He carefully puts you down onto the bed, and your feet still hurt, so you hiss. Roger immediately looks at you, worried. You gesture for your feet and he presses kisses all over your face. He makes you sputter and giggle again, you’re trying to push him away from you with your little hands, but Roger only takes them between his hands and pins them down at your sides. He kisses you deeply and you relax against him once again. 

His wet kisses trail all over your face again after kissing you and you can’t help laughing. “Stop, stop.” You protest, but Roger only adds tickling your sides with his fingers, and you can’t breathe from the laughing. “We have to—” a fit of giggles, “—we had to go to b—bed, didn't—didn’t we?” You manage to ask him between your giggles, and now Roger’s laughing. 

“Alright.” He says and gives you a tired smile, stopping his tickling assault on you. Roger gives you a kiss on the lips and then walks away from the bed, stalking towards your cabinet of clothes. “What pyjamas are we feeling tonight? Hot pink or dark blue?”


	3. My Mood Is Not Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a party, yours and Roger's moods differ.  
> Warnings: arguments, angst.

The door of the apartment bangs heavily after you both have come through it, due to Roger being too drunk to draw the line between what’s pushing and what’s hitting. You laugh at him and sigh tiredly, putting your bag down on the kitchen table. You yawn, as well, tired after the show and the afterparty and glad to finally be home.

You pay no mind to Roger, knowing his drunk bum will get in bed with you soon, too, and you walk down the hallway until you reach the bathroom. You shrug off you blouse and tights and skirt, and groan appreciatively when they’re off you. You take off your bra, as well, and put on a tank top before slipping on a sweater and pyjama shorts. Your face looks crazy with all the makeup, and you huff while raising your eyebrows. The cotton pads and makeup remover stand on the bathroom counter, and you reach for them both. You wet the pad with the remover and wipe stripes down your cheeks and the rest of your face. It stings a little, and you wince, and then your skin feels a little dry. 

You wash your face with water afterwards and shut off the light, leaving the bathroom. Your legs find the bedroom soon enough and you collapse on the covers on your back. You put your hair up in a messy tail and sigh, leaning back into the pillows. Roger comes through the door and your tired eyes turn to him slowly.

He has a glass in his hand, and he’s rid himself of his jacket, shirt and pants. His chest and legs are bare and you smile. “Come to bed, love.” You say to him and he nods. Roger puts his glass down on the cupboard before walking over to the bed where you lay, and joins you. You giggle, putting his hands on your stomach so that his arms lay over your frame, but he has none of it and rolls you onto your back again, leaning over you.

His lips leave a line of kisses down your neck and his hands grab onto your hips, pulling them against his. You close your eyes, enjoying his lips against your skin, but you know where this leads. You push Roger away a little. “I don’t wanna.” You admit tiredly and Roger only chuckles, resuming kissing your skin.

You grab onto his shoulders and make him look you in the eyes. “Roger, let’s go to bed. I’m not in the mood.” You say to him quietly, but firmly. He pouts and then pushes his erection against you, raising his eyebrows.

“But I have to… get rid o’ something.” He tells you, trying to gain your sympathy, but you shake your head. You’re really tired and in no mood for sex.

“I understand, darling, but that can wait till the morning.” You say finally and turn in his loose grasp onto your side, as previously. 

“What the fuck, Y/N?” He snaps and you turn your head to him. “We get back from the party where you barely spent time with me, and we haven’t been together for a while, and you don’t want to fuck?”

You shake your head. “I don’t, Roger, I’m tired. I want to got to sleep.” You tell him again and he sighs, stepping off you. 

“What’s the point of you if I don’t get sex?” Roger asks as he walks over to his glass of whiskey. 

His words shock you to the core and you have to sit up to see him. Did he really just say that? To you? To his girlfriend of almost eight years? 

“Go shag one of those groupies, then, if there’s no point of me.” you say, not able to hold back your sharp tongue. You wanted to stay quiet and ignore his comment, but something in you disagreed with that. “You’re drunk, Roger, go to sleep.” You try and make up the situation somehow by that, but it doesn’t work, judging on Roger’s next words.

“Well, maybe I’ll go and fuck one of those girls, at least they’ll want me.” He shoots back and you almost growl through your nose at his words, completely agitated now. He takes a sip from his drink and you want to smash that glass into his face. He’s made you so angry now. 

“Consider that they might not be the ones with self-respect.” You say back finally and turn your back to him, facing the rest of the empty bed. You huff loudly and try to relax your face, but the furrowed eyebrows and an angry facial expression compete with it horribly. You hear Roger sighing loudly and after a half a minute or so, you hear him walk out of the bedroom and groan after he does, throwing a laying-around high heel at the door frame. He doesn’t react to that in any way, and you hear him walk back down the hallway. You’re so hoping that he won’t leave and shut the door, but that he’ll come back into the bedroom and lay next to you and let you both fix the little argument in a few seconds. You hear him stop at the living room entrance and plop down on the couch, sighing loudly. A tear of gladness and regret slips past your eye. You try to calm down your mind and your breathing so you could fall asleep. It’s not easy, but after what seems eternity of dead silence and struggling with yourself, you do fall asleep.


	4. All It Took (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought you and Roger were serious and were delighted to bare him the news of you being pregnant. But Roger's reaction shocks you.  
> Warnings: angst.

Three months it was. Three whole months. It wasn’t long, but it was the possible best three months of your life. Music, driving, singing, writing, adventures, flying, love-making. It was so wonderful, and you felt like on cloud nine. There could be nothing better than this, nothing to better to come or to have gone in your life. You were sure. And now the thought seemed more real and true than nothing ever had.

A little fooling around in the bedroom, completely forgetting about a condom or a pill or anything else that might have prevented this little… encounter, so you’d say. And you’re here. Crying, alone, abandoned, hurting, confused, unwanted and… pregnant.

Very much pregnant, two and a half weeks in. You felt morning sickness and a dislikeness to alcohol, finding its smell horrible. Anything you ate, you threw up and you soon called your mum. She’s the one you trust in any question you have, always has been. So you called her and told her what’s been happening and she broke you the news of being pregnant.

Her words burned on your lips which you nibbled at afterwards, after the phone call had ended. You stood in your kitchen, thinking of the consequences, thinking of what to do, what would he say… What would Roger say? What would he do? You booked an appointment immediately after having our doubts, having split thoughts about being pregnant. But you were, you found that out that same day, hours after.

Certainly, a three month relationship isn’t a lot, and a child too soon for that, but… You weren’t sure of Roger’s response, but you were very sure that you loved him like no one else. He was a sure one for you, his looks and reputation might not promise that, but you know who he is. 

Yet here you are. Abandoned by the man you thought you loved most of all, the man you thought gave you the same amount of love. The one you thought wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t deny you, wouldn’t do… what he did. Maybe you should have just not told him, make up lies and run away when your stomach got too fat. But you didn’t, and in time, you’ll realise that it was the right choice to make.

“Hi, Roger.” You say sweetly to him, your hand around his neck already and twirling the ends of his blonde strands. He smiles at you and kisses your lips with the same smile, making you giggle. His nose touches yours softly, and you kiss the tip of it. Strangely shaped, his nose. A round form, but the pointiest tip at the end. Always reminded you of a little birdie.

“Hi, my love.” He says, slowly blinking. “Have a good day?” The conversation with your mum you had echoes in your mind and the doctor’s appointment of last night flashes by, but you nod. 

“Do you mind… sitting down?” You ask. Roger furrows his eyebrows and turns his head slightly. “I have something to tell you.” He nods then, and walks over to the kitchen table, taking a seat at one of the chairs. 

Roger reaches his arm out to you, pouting and you giggle, blushing and trying to shake the stress out of your body. You walk over to him and take his hand in yours. He can feel that you’re a bit shaky by holding your nervous fingers between his. Roger looks up at you and you sigh heavily.

“I only found out last night that…” you trail off. Your facial expression changes between a nervous smile and a frown as you try to bring your lips to say the fatal words. “R-Roger, I’m pregnant.” You finally say, maybe in a voice bit too harsh, as you look in his eyes.

You feel his hand loosening on yours as his reaction to your words. You lose his eyes as he looks down. Roger makes no sound. He’s completely silent, and you know very well it’s not like him at all to be silent. If he is so, then there’s something truly wrong or he’s deep into thinking. This must be the first and the latter. 

You don’t move an inch and honestly, you start to feel very uncomfortable in standing and waiting. Roger lets go of your hand, and it drops by your side. You watch him, and your eyes have started to burn from doing so. it’s painful, it’s unbearable, and you’re impatient. You just need him to tell you an exact answer, you can’t face silence or ignoring. You never have.

“Roger—”

“You can’t be.” He says so quietly you thought you’d dreamt it due to your zest to hear an answer. You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head down to him slightly. You don’t want to look into his eyes, but you do, as well. You don’t want to seem to obvious about it. 

It takes a while for you to manage a reply, and when you do, you speak quietly, as well. “I am.” You whisper. When you don’t hear an answer, you can’t hide your curiosity anymore. “Roger, what’s wrong?”

He looks at you, and for the first time, you can’t read his face, you can’t read any emotion off it, or feeling. “What’s wrong?” He repeats in a shaky and mock-ful voice. “You’re pregnant is what’s wrong.” He says and you draw in a breath. Did he really…

Tears gather in your eyes and you step away, Roger watching you as you do, not moving an inch, not changing his facial expression. He doesn’t even want to apologise. He doesn’t think what he said was wrong. He doesn't—”You don’t want a child?” You ask in a shocked whisper. 

“So you’re keeping it?” He asks back, tilting his head to the side.

“Of course I am!” You reply. “It’s out baby, Roger. I want to keep our child… I want to have your child.” You admit, and though you feel like Roger wants you to feel shame for that, you don’t. 

“Well, you can’t.” He shakes his head and looks away, but then quickly back at you. “I’ve been making money and we can afford… not having it.”

You don’t hesitate to let out a gasp from the shock, your hand shooting up to your face. “You can not make decisions for me just because it’s your money.” You say to him, angrier. “And couldn’t that money be saved for the baby?”

“No.” Roger says, shaking his head quickly. “Absolutely not.” He assures you and you cry out, tears falling down your cheeks. 

“You’d kill an unborn child because—“ you tell him in a questioning manner but halt when you realise you haven’t got a reason. “Why don’t you want to have a child?”

“Y/N, we’re not serious!” Roger exclaims. “We’ve only been together for three months and I don’t want to have a child with just a fling!” He stands up now, taking a few steps over to you, and you gasp again, followed by a cry. You immediately step back from him and his angry form, grasping the kitchen counter. 

“Just a fling…” you whisper. It goes around in your mind in a loop until the words get too loud for your liking. You sniffle and wipe your face. With tears in your eyes, you face Roger and look at him, trying to straighten your back confidently. You want to shout at him so much, let all your anger and confusion out. But you don’t want a shouting match. “Right. So if I’m just a fling, it won’t matter to you that I raise this baby alone and without a father, and leave you now? Right?” You ask, expecting a real response, but Roger only watches you. “You’ll feel just as alone soon as I do now, Roger. Just a fling…” you mutter again and look down. “Just a fling who is willing to have your baby. I’m just a fling who has supported you more than anyone. Just a fling who loves you.” The words leave your mouth quicker than you can register, but you don’t really care that they’re out in front of him. They should be, because it’s the truth. Even if he was ready for abortion—would he have thought that you two could be together after that?—and even if he doesn’t want a baby at all, the words are still true. You love him. 

Roger visibly freezes at that, and sighs quietly. “I didn’t know you felt that way…” He admits, and you throw your hand at him. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t need your pity.” You say and walk past him, wanting to walk further into his apartment. You stop and look at him. A smile stretches your face. “I’ll pack my bags and be going, alright?”

There’s not a hint of sarcasm in your voice, and it surprises the drummer. You have the most genuine voice and smile as you speak, and then walk further into his apartment. As if you two had a regular conversation, like you did day to day. Like nothing just happened, like he didn’t just reject a child from you, like you didn’t just confess your love to him. And now he knows. 

It’s nothing serious. Nothing meaningful. Just like he thought your relationship was. Three months. That’s nothing, right? Nothing that important. Just like this little argument. Nothing to fuss about, nothing major that should cost worry or stress or crying over. It didn’t mean anything, and still doesn’t. Right?

You pack two bags of all your stuff calmly, although tears are burning your cheeks and rolling down them. You say nothing, you don’t make a sound. You fight off all the memories that come back with each little thing you pick up in your hand. What’s done is done, you’ve said what you wanted, you’ve got your answer. Now you go back to your flat and figure out what to do next. But that’s only when you get there, no need to think about it now. 

Roger sits in the kitchen with a beer in hand, listening to your footsteps padding on his apartment’s floor. He’s thinking if he said the right words. He told you the truth, but it would have been better if he lied? You hate lying and liars, and Roger very well knows that. He promised he wouldn’t lie to you, but he also promised that he wouldn’t hurt you. And now look at where you are.

A pregnancy was what it took for a seemingly wonderful three-month relationship to fall apart. You never thought this would be it. You didn’t want this to be it. You wanted for this to be a happy evening full of love and dreams for the future. Now you can only think of nightmares and misunderstanding and doubts. That’s what is waiting for you now.


	5. Slipping Through His Fingers (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger deeply regrets the way he acted years ago, and has decided to spend time with his child. But it's not all pleasant.

« Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning,  
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile…

Hope gives Roger the look of naiveness and the small wave she sends his way only hightens it. Roger wonders how long she’ll have that look in her eyes and on her face. How the people around will change her, change the way she thinks and talks, change the look of innocence to the look of bearing and tiredness and everything else that comes with adolescence and growing up. He wonders if Y/N has told her everything about him, and if she hasn’t, then when will she? Or won’t she ever do it?

If she’s told her, are the looks and smiles of innocence false? Does Hope know that her father’s first reaction was anger and the thought of immediate abortion? What does she think of her father? Does she still see him as a good man? 

« I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness,  
And I have to sit down for a while…

Roger sighs and grunts as he raises from the kitchen table and takes the glass of whiskey from the surface. He walks over to his living room window from where he can see his front porch. He watches Hope climbing into her mom’s car and the two of them smiling happily. Roger sees it through only a slit in the curtains, he doesn’t want to be too obvious. Y/N and Hope share a lively conversation, it seems, and she’s asked her daughter what she’s done with her father together over the weekend. But even from here, Roger can see a glint of sadness in her eyes. Still. And he knows why.

« The feeling that I’m losing her forever,  
And without really entering her world…

Roger has always felt like he doesn’t know her. When he first remembered about Y/N and their child that she bore, and thought about calling you up and meeting the two of you, he thought he’d know your child instantly. But that was the total opposite.

She’s a quiet kid, very much like Y/N must have been as a child. Totally not like Roger. She didn’t whine, she didn’t cry when she didn’t get what she wanted, she didn’t yell or misbehave. Y/N was worried that it was very bad for a child who’s five years old, but she realised it’s her family’s trait, on her mum’s side, to be quiet and obeying and behaving as a kid. So she stopped worrying. 

Roger was jealous, he must admit, and still is. Hope got more of Y/N than she got of him, and he also knows that he’s faulty of that. It was Roger’s own fault. 

And he still doesn’t know Hope. Roger doesn’t know her as a person or as his own kid, even though she is, biologically. He can’t see through her, he can’t figure her out. And when he tries to ask questions, she replies plainly and shortly. Which might be because of her quiteness, but also because Y/N might have told her about Roger.

She’s the second introvert Roger has come across, but she’s harder to get around with and please and figure out than John, his band’s bassist. He never expected an introvert being his own daughter. Roger barely knows how to live with an introvert and converse on daily basis, let alone how to raise one! He’s not used to someone being unresponsive or less responsive, and he doesn’t know what to do in many situations with Hope. What to say next, or does he even say anything… Makes him stressed.

« I’m glad whenever I can share her laughter,  
That funny little girl,

When Hope laughs, it’s the most beautiful and uplifting thing Roger hears and tries every day and every hour to get it to happen again. But it’s so rare. And he guesses that’s what makes it even more beautiful. 

She laughs at silly and unusual things, like the small fluffy Easter chickens that they sell at the stores with flowers and other Easter decorations. The flying drumstick her dad tosses away while drumming. Her own funny faces that she makes in the mirror. Something funny in the book she’s reading. A painting out of flour on the kitchen table amidst pancake or gingerbread making. A dog running after a cat on the street. Cupcakes with silly decorations in pastrie shops.

Her laughter is music to Roger’s ears, and he gets so much joy from the sound. It lifts him up, makes his day. He just wishes Hope would laugh and smile more, and more because of him.

« Slipping through my fingers all the time,  
I try to capture every minute,  
The feeling in it…

Even though at the start Y/N prohibited Roger to take pictures or tape videos of their daughter, he did it anyway. He has a whole album of her pictures, not entirely filled, but soon to be there. Anytime there’s a good day and the two of them are together, Roger takes as many pictures of Hope as she lets him. He likes to photograph her when she doesn’t see him doing it. Otherwise, she’d immediately want to pose (unnecessarily) or photograph her dad. And he’s got enough pictures of himself in the public and private to go around. But the ones that she manages to take of him, Roger gives to Hope. And she’s got quite the collection.

There’s her dad trying to take the camera away with his hands covering the most of the lense. There’s one of him writing something down, then the next one is of him looking in the lense with a blank look. A complete natural one, that is, one of Hope’s favourites. There are so many emotions visible in his eyes, she hopes to uncover them all someday. There’s also one with Rog behind his drumkit, one with him holding a guitar and drinking tea. 

Y/N could put up with looking at the pictures of Roger in front of Hope, but when she slept or was at school, Y/N cried heavily. She cried of how horrible he was, how heartless and denying. How he’s trying to be a father just now, years and years after the break-up. She cries about his relationship with Hope and how they’re sort of bonding. She cries about the time wasted and spent alone. She cries because she misses him and because… She still loves Roger. She does, even after all these years and despite all the anger she feels for him.

« Do I really see what’s in her mind?  
Each time I think I’m close to knowing,  
She keeps on growing…

Will he ever know Hope? Will he know her as a person? How will he find her out? How can he sympathise with her, win her love and heart? Roger’s not a good person, he thinks it’s the truth, and so he doubts he’ll ever win her complete trust and heart. And that breaks his heart.

He’s been changing girlfriends from time to time since he broke up with Y/N more than ten years ago. None of them have been serious, and you’d think he truly loved Y/N and that’s why he couldn’t stay with another woman for longer than a few months. But that’s not it. 

When he remembered that he actually has a child, he couldn’t shake it. To Roger’s mind, there’s no bond stronger than between people who have had a kid together. And it’s an unbreakable bond. 

He loves Y/N as the mother of his child. Sometimes he thinks there’s something more, but… Roger knows she won’t let him in again. Even if both of them wanted it. Nothing could happen, cause they both have too many doubts about the relationship and each other. It wouldn’t be good for Hope if she saw them in some sort of tension or arguing. She already has quite the bad atmosphere what with her parents not being together. 

Y/N had many ground rules for Roger seeing Hope, but the main one is that he can’t see Y/N. She only met him that one time when Hope was five years old, and it already was too much for Y/N. Sometimes she comes to pick her up from Roger’s house, but she never comes into the house. She’s still scared.

« Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table  
Barely awake, I let precious time go by…

Rarely, when Y/N has a work event or a night-out with her friends, she drives him to Roger’s house. And sometimes that happens on school nights. Roger has no problem with that, of course, the more time he can get with Hope he enjoys and is always up for it. 

But Hope does have to get up at an ungodly hour to get to school on time. Roger never wakes up that early, except on tours, but he hates it either way. He’s in his flannel pyjama shirt and pants, hair messed up and glasses in front of his eyes, making breakfast for them both. Roger is trying not to fall asleep while standing, and Hope, on the contrary, is awake as ever. She’s in her sleeping gown and and pants, and fuzzy socks. Her hair is put up in a bun she saw her mother make with her own hair—hence why Hope does it. And she’s doing some last minute homework. How can she even think this early?

The clock shows it’s 7:16am. For Roger, this is night time. On one hand, he can’t wait to get back to sleep. On the other, he wants to spend the whole day with Hope, no matter how early he has to get up. But the good thing is, she’s here now and he even gets to drive her to school! Roger smiles at that, and finally turns to Hope with finished breakfast on two plates. Eggs with ham and some toast.

She looks up at him and notices the plates, immediately closing her notebook and pushing it to the corner of the table’s surface. The fourteen-year-old girl scrambles to get them kitchen ware to eat with and places it beside the plates her father has put down. There’s also tea and coffee, and juice for them to drink on. 

Hope loves this, but she won’t say it out loud to Roger. She loves school mornings with her dad. They’re better than weekend mornings or holiday mornings. These school mornings are gentle, quiet, full of love, and limited as well. But that’s what makes them so loved by Hope.

« Then when she’s gone, there’s that odd melancholy feeling  
And a sense of guilt I can’t deny…

Roger wishes that he could spend every school and weekend morning with Hope. And it’s the greatest regret of his life that he can’t have that. And he knows it’s his fault that he can’t have every morning with his daughter.

He often thinks back to the day Y/N told him she was pregnant and wants to punch his younger self in the face for thinking and saying and doing what he did. It was ever so wrong, the most wrong thing he’s done in his life. 

Roger looks at Hope again as she’s drawing something, laying on his living room floor. Her hair is in a ponytail and her face is ruled by deep concentration. What is she drawing? Some thought-up character? Fairies and wizards? No. He doesn’t know and can’t guess that she’s drawing her father. He’d never know.

Roger watches her drawing and she looks so divine, so exceptional, so peaceful. How could he ever want to abort this beautiful child? He didn’t know, of course, what she’d be like, he never wanted to then. Roger was young and reckless and dumb, he only cared for himself and his reputation. What a stupid boy I was…

His arrogance and mistakes have robbed him of the biggest treasure in his life. Y/N and Hope. Roger will never forgive himself. He could’ve had the best life, the best and most beautiful family. There would be two people missing him at home everyday, two people he’d miss everyday apart from his own parents, of course. Two girls he’d give the world to, he’d bring them everywhere and show them everything beautiful that is to enjoy in this life. He could have had and done everything. But he chose the wrong path in his younger and egoistical years and that lead him to the misery he so badly wants to escape now.

Roger sighs and leans back into the couch. His sigh would’ve turned into a desperate sob or cry if it weren’t for his self-control and care and love for Hope. He doesn’t want her seeing him cry or drown in self-pity, which is what he does day-to-day anyway. But if he promised himself and Y/N that he’d be a great father, he will stay true to his word. 

« What happened to the wonderful adventures?  
The places I had planned for us to go…

Y/N had so many fantasies of being parents with Roger when she found out she was pregnant. Roger kissing her big stomach while the child still hasn’t been born, buying baby clothes and furniture together. Roger barely making it in time to the baby’s birth, the joy on his face as he holds the little baby. Perhaps he’d cry or cheer loudly, announce to the whole hospital or even scream the news out of the window to everyone who walks by. She’d be too tired to quiet him down, so she’d just smile and hold onto their baby tighter.

Walking around the park with the child in a cute carriage, the sun shining down. Waking up early to feed the baby, the wakings at night and Y/N and Roger taking turns in putting the kid back to sleep. Breakfast on a terrace in a house in summer when the sun’s still pleasant in the early morning. Baths together as a trio, bubbles, laughter and wet hair. Introducing the baby to the band, bringing her over to their houses and gardens and watching as the tough badass glam-rock men turn into complete mushy bears upon seeing the little girl. Her fingers tangling in Brian’s hair, repeatedly playing one string of John’s guitar and dancing with Freddie or listening to him sing.

Roger taking Y/N and the toddler girl on vacations to France or Italy or Spain, residing in country-side houses and watching the sunsets in meadows or on beaches. When the kid’s older, Roger would eventually allow the two girls to come with him on tour, but only a few dates. He wouldn’t want his two girls to be exposed to the public eye too much, in a perfect world - the public wouldn’t even know about them and let the family live their life privately. 

Sometimes Y/N cries at night because her fantasies never came true. And they never will. And this is her first and probably only child, which she raised completely on her own and who she loves more than anything in the world. She wants to give her daughter everything there is to give. Y/N moves mountains for her daughter, always has and will be ready to do it forever. And she knews it from the very start, from the day she found out she’d have a child. And she’ll be forever angry at Roger for not wanting the same, not seeing the child as she did and still does. She was blinded by Hope.

Hope. An interesting name for a child. Roger asked Y/N why she named her ‘Hope’. Y/N answered him, but not truthfully. She didn’t want Roger to know the sacred truth of their daughter’s name origin. 

She named her so because that was all she had when she was alone with her daughter, when she was without Roger at child birth, at her first birthday, and all birthdays until the 6th. All Y/N had was hope. Hope that Roger would call and apologise for what a prick he was, how he wasn’t thinking straight and was ever so sorry. Hope that Roger would turn up at her door when she had been fired or robbed, at the most horrible and unexpected time. Like a blessing, an angel in her eyes. 

Y/N hoped that Roger would come around a week or two after. When that time passed, she hoped for a month. And then, and then, and then, she didn’t want to admit she still had hope, but she did. Y/N hoped dearly that some completely ordinary day she’d meet Roger at a shop or on the street with Hope in the carriage. And they’d have a lovely conversation, and he’d tell her he loves her and wants to be a father and that he was a shitty person. She hoped they’d be together again, be parents, maybe even get married! Y/N hoped for every possible scenario, but never expected what actually happened. Roger sending her a letter after six years of no communication, three months after Hope’s 5th birthday, and asking Y/N to meet up because he’s realised his wrongs and wants to be a proper father. 

She had to read the letter multiple times then, over and over. Then Y/N sat down at the kitchen table, stared at the letter, at the envelope, at the table, at her hands and the wall. Her mind was blank. Then came the anger, then came the sadness, then the gladness and then tears from every emotion, and that went on and on in circles. Until she decided that she’d take Hope to meet her father and let whatever happens happen. 

« Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture  
And save it from the funny tricks of time  
Slipping through my fingers…

Then came one evening when Hope asked her mother if she could spend longer time with her dad. It took Y/N by surprise and at first, she just stared at Hope until some logical question came up in her mind to ask. She had so many questions and also arguments as to why she shouldn’t. But she can’t neglect her child’s wishes, especially the ones with her father, that could lead to later trauma.

“W-Why?” Y/N asked and Hope continued to look at her mother with begging eyes. 

“Because, mummy,” she starts to say. She still says 'mummy’, this fourteen-year-old, “I know daddy wants to spend more time with me, and I miss him everyday. I want to see him everyday, I want to live with him more.” Live with him? Outrageous, was the first thing Y/N thought. She couldn’t allow that, at least she thinks so. “I love daddy, and he loves me. He tells me that everyday.”

“He does?” Y/N whispers. Hope nods.

“And he loves you. And I know you love him, don’t you? You just don’t want to tell that to each other.” She explains. Y/N smiles quickly, but it fades away soon enough. Her hand reaches out to stroke Hope’s cheek. 

“You’re so smart, angel.” She says to her daughter and Hope manages a shy smile. 

“Mum, please,” the teenager begs, “I want to see daddy more. I want to meet his friends, I wanna watch them make music.”

Y/N nods and has to take a moment to herself to think it over. She looks out the window, grasping her chin between her fingers in deep thought. This is complicated. Her own feelings and love might be compromised, her life might be turned upside down or ruined. She can’t predict the future, but Y/N damn wishes she could. Everything would be easier.

“Alright, my love,” Y/N starts to say and looks back at Hope, who’s got big eyes with optimism in them, “when we meet daddy tomorrow, we’ll talk about it, alright?”

Hope nods and smiles wide. She immediately jumps on her mother, her arms reaching around so she can hug her. Y/N smiles and strokes Hope’s hair, a few tears in her eyes. She’s sad and happy and anxious, all at one moment. Maybe it is time for a change. In everything. She knows what it means if everything would stay the same. And she knows exactly what it means to live with Roger. Even if it’s just Hope who does, but Y/N knows Roger would never allow her living completely alone, away from them two. Here comes a big decision, and a dilemma.

“Of course you can stay longer, bub,” Roger says, smiling wide. He’s so happy, and glad, that Hope wants to stay at his house more. He strokes her cheek, watching her with his big, blue and almost teary eyes. Hope gives him a smile and then looks at her mother, and so does Roger, “if mummy likes that, of course.” He says once seeing the cold and unsure look in Y/N’s eyes.

She gives them both a shy smile and watches her own fiddling fingers under the table cloth. “Hope, why don’t you go look outside in the cafe’s garden? I saw they had bunnies.” Y/N says to her daughter who frowns.

“But I want to be here when you decide.” She argues and Y/N sighs.

“There are things, my love, that are private between me and your father.” Y/N says. Your father. Roger looks at her when she calls him that. A cold, distant name for him. It makes him a bit sad, and hopeless, as well. “Go outside and pet the bunnies. We’ll come for you when everything’s settled.”

Hope nods sadly and leaves the table. “A bit cold to her, that is,” Roger says, though his words are fearful. He looks at Y/N in a scared way. She only smiles and shakes her head.

“I don’t want her to know all our issues.” She admits to Roger, looking him in the eyes, and he immediately raises his eyebrows.

“So you… haven’t, um, told her?” He squints his eyebrows, purely curious for the answer. 

“Have I told her that your first response was abortion and that you weren’t supportive at all?” Y/N asks, raising her eyebrows and suddenly rising from her seat. She slumps back down and huffs. “No, I have not.” She says and erases all the fright in Roger. He almost breathes in his relief, but stops himself. “She’s still a kid. And as much as I hate her not knowing anything, I…” Y/N sighs and looks down at her hands, “I don’t want her to hate you.” She admits, looking back at Roger. 

A smile twitches his lips. He’s very touched by that. 

“I just know how I felt when my mother finally told me about my father.” She says.

“Don’t tell me he did the same thing I did.” Roger says, in slight fear again. Y/N laughs.

“No, he cheated. I told you that… years ago.” She tells him and Roger nods. You dumbass, he thinks to himself. 

“Sorry.” Roger says. “I’m sorry for everything. Really, I am, Y/N. I cannot live with myself with what I did. But I love Hope so much, she means the world to me. You both do.” At the last three words, Roger reaches over the table to take Y/N’s hands in his. He’s hopeful, but the action is a bit outrageous. She looks at him, taken aback at the gesture, but waiting for him to say more. “And I’m sorry for not being with you earlier, from the very start. I—It’s the greatest mistake of my life. My biggest regret that I didn’t give you the partner and Hope the father she needed. I am so sorry.” 

Y/n sighs deeply and looks away, but doesn’t retract her hand. “You don't—you don’t have to apologise.” She tells him. But Roger’s not convinced. “You were a different person. Well, that, and you had d-different, um… priorities.” Y/N falters, her whole posture does. She’s never talked to someone about this, about that night so many years ago.

“I was stupid, young and stupid, I really—”

“Roger, please stop.” Y/N stops him, whispering, and the look in her eyes catches Roger. There are tears brimming and begging in her beautiful orbs. He immediately stops talking and closes his mouth, understanding that it hurts for her. “Hope will be back soon and we have to settle the whole… thing.” She continues whispering, but the last word she says in a proper voice.

“Right, right. Okay,” Roger responds and leans back into his chair, his hands slipping away from Y/N’s, “um, well, what do I say? Uh…”

“Whatever you want. Tell me everything you think.” Y/N encourages, but Roger has already decided what he’ll say.

“Move in with me.” He tells her suddenly. “Both of you.” 

Y/N’s breath catches in her throat, and her eyes widen. She blinks a few times, realising one of the scenarios she predicted has come true and she is not prepared her answer to it, or answers. 

She stays silent for a moment that seems much too long for Roger to wait on. She seems decided, but conflicted. Perhaps she already knows what to say, but doesn’t know if she should? Decided, but not sure how to say it? Unsure to say it? He watches her as she thinks, and decides in his head that everything’s over and she doesn’t want to move in, she doesn’t want Hope to spend more time with him—

“It will take time,” Y/N finally says, looking at Roger, “but we can.” She voices her decision to Roger.

He can’t help but smile wide and simply look at Y/N for a while. Her decision was the one Roger was hoping for. Probably the only one he could survive. Roger didn’t even expect her to accept his moving-in suggestion, he thought she’d laugh in his face and leave. Or start crying.

But the reason she’d be crying would be of happiness. They’re all going to be living in one place, as a family. Family. That’s what she’s always wanted. She wouldn’t ask for nothing more except for it to have happened sooner. But she’s grateful it’s happened at all.


	6. College Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is smitten with a girl younger than him, and his own doubts caused by his past torture him about it. As do his bandmates. But he's head over heels for her, and is convinced that this will last.

1977\. The time ‘flower-power’ and rock'n'roll hit their peak and everyone was experiencing drugs, love and music. Although, there were people focused on studies and not wasting their youths away with psychedelic adventures. Yes, she enjoyed music as much as the next person, but she knew there would be a later time for having fun in her friends’ way and being in the rock'n'roll lifestyle, she has to finish her degree to ensure a stable future for herself. But, the time of rock'n'roll for Y/N came sooner than she thought.

Roger Taylor of Queen had found her one day at a park while she was studying and completely lost all track of where was supposed to go and what he was supposed to do. She was breathtaking. The sun shining down on her hands and the book she read, her hair swaying just so in the soft autumn wind and a small smile on her face. Her gentle features held the look of determination and ambition on them. Roger smiled to himself and looked down, his hands in his pockets, and walked over to the beautiful stranger after silent contemplation in his head. 

She looked up at him and her smile stretched wider, and she recognised him. Y/N knew who he was, but didn’t let that impact her first impression of him and vice versa. Roger smiled and he looked not a bit older than her, his posture reminding Y/N of a shy school boy. “Can I—” he gestured for a spot across her on the grass, right where her book bag layed with the ends of her legs. “Sit down?” Roger finished his question and Y/N nodded, tugging her legs closer to herself while Roger sat down.

The question 'why me?’ scratched at her mind as she watched the man in front of her. Because his already bright hair was brightened by the sun rays, he looked a bit etheral and she admired how he looked. Beautiful. She smiled and hummed to herself, which returned Roger’s attention to her. 

“What book are you reading there?” He asked and leaned his arms on his legs, leaning closer to Y/N. She looked at him a bit strangely, and for a moment the look seemed a bit angry, but she was really concentrated on her book. And due to the lack of sunglasses, Y/N’s face was scrunched in the sun.

“It’s about Ancient Greece’s mythology.” Y/N responded. Roger nodded, impressed. “I’ve just started college.” She explained and Roger mistakenly raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, but thankfully Y/N didn’t see it. She really didn’t look as young as to have started college, and now he’s a bit worried that he came and sat next to her.

“Really?” He asked. Y/N nodded. Roger could see the excitement in her eyes, and he loved it. She was visibly keen to learn and study. Such a different characteristic from himself. “What are you studying?”

“Mm,” Y/N hummed, “currently world history and psychology. But I’ll have to choose in which I have a degree eventually.”

“Ah, can’t choose?” Roger asked with a cheeky smile, raising his chin, and Y/N nodded. They both shared sweet laughter, the sun making them look just like out of a movie. 

“What are you doing here?” Y/N softly asked, tilting her head to the side and taking the man’s features, trying to find out more about him from just the way he looked. Roger smiled and looked away. 

“Had some free time,” he said, “and this park seemed the most unoccupied of all in London. Wanted some time alone.” Y/N raised her eyebrows and closed her book, starting to raise to her feet and taking her book-bag in hand.

“I won’t be helping you with that.” She said and Roger suddenly panicked, standing up after her and looking at her a bit hurt and in fear. 

“Wait, no, it’s alright,” Roger started, “I chose to come here.” He argumented, reaching his hand out to touch Y/N’s arm. She hung her bag over her shoulder and looked at Roger, a bit confused. 

“I know.” She said. “And I have to go.” Y/N told him, and Roger furrowed his eyebrows for a second before drawing back a little and nodding.

“Oh, alright.” He responded. “A lecture?” Y/N gave a little chuckle in response and Roger almost lost his posture. She’s so beautiful. She’s the most beautiful.

She shook her head. “No, but I have studying to do, so it’s time for me to go.” She replied. “I’ll… see you around.” She said unsurely and began walking away, but Roger wasn’t going to let this opportunity slide so quickly away. He wrapped his fingers around her arm, trying to be subtle and light. Y/N looked at him, and there was no hint of irritation on her face. Thankfully.

“Can I at least know your name?” He asked. She nodded, blushing a little. He wanted to know her name.

“Y/N.” She gave it to him. Roger smiled widely. 

“That’s beautiful.” He complimented her, and her cheeks tainted an even darker shade of pink. “I’m Roger.” He said and Y/N nodded. She wanted to say she knew, but she was sure it showed in her face. “Do you—”

“Yes, I might know a bit of who you are.” She said, nodding. Roger looked down and bit down on his lip, realising what it meant. She might reject him, she might know of his relationships and how he’s not particularly… steady in them. But she seems different. She is different. Whatever may come hasn’t started the way the previous relationships did, and it gives Roger a sigh of relief, giving him something new to hold onto.

Y/N didn’t seem to be the girl he’d have his way with and doesn’t seem the option to do it quickly, either. He felt different about her than all the other women. She was young, yes, much younger, but over the time they dated and were together, she proved to be older in mind than what her age might tell Roger. She was much more intelligent than all her peers and classmates that Roger had come in contact with, and it surprised him in a pleasant way. 

They’ve been together for only eight months, and Roger is very sure of their relationship. His friends and bandmates tease him about it, knowing very well the characteristics of their drummer friend and his ways with women. But Roger had absolutely fallen for the innocent, young college student. She was like no other, and it pulled him towards her even more every day. Roger wanted everything with her. Everything that love could give, anything that she could give. Shared apartment, a car, pets, marriage, kids, legacy… Everything. He was craving it, and she had been the first one ever to plant such thoughts in his head. So Roger knew that she was really… the one.

For a stable eight month relationship, Roger has too many doubts. He thinks she doesn’t want the same things he does, because she knows all too well his previous relationships. Especially the ones that felt right but which he fled last minute. Right before a big decision that might divide and turn around his life. And that’s what she was afraid of - him running away.

“Really caught on that young girl, are you?” John asks, a hand on Roger’s shoulder comfortingly. Roger looks up at him for a second, but looks back down at his hands, sighing.

“She’s not just a girl, John.” He responds. “And stop with the young thing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“At least tell us this relationship is not one-sided.” Freddie says and Roger looks at him, fire and anger fueling the beautiful blue orbs. 

“What the fuck, Fred?” He scoffs. Freddie rolls his eyes and turns away.

“You all know what I mean,” the lead singer replies earning grunts and sighs from the rest of the band. 

“No, I don’t.” Roger says. “Please, do tell.” His words are dripping with sarcasm, but he does want to know what Freddie means by his own words. Roger looks at Freddie, who slams the coffee machine down on the table and sighs heavily.

“Mutual consent, dear!” Freddie tells him in a reminding manner, raising his coffee cup and looking in Roger’s eyes. He scoffs again and turns away. 

“When have I not taken any girl’s words or feelings into account?” Roger asks.

“I thought you said this wasn’t just 'any girl’.” John replies and Roger shoots him an agitated look. That causes Brian to sigh and rub his eyes, and he stands up. He feels this is going nowhere.

“Look, Roger may be annoying and… pushing in ways,” Brian starts, which results in Roger groaning. Brian shoots him a look but carries on, “but he knows what consent is and he’s definitely not a… rapist.” Brian whispers the last word.

“A RAPIST?!” Roger bursts in anger.

“I never said that!” Freddie defends himself at the same time Roger shouts. Brian groans and hangs his head down, John only stays aside, hating arguments. 

“Okay, stop.” Brian raises his hands up, trying to stop the barely-fight, and stands between Roger and Freddie, who are shouting nonsense at each other. “Stop!” The guitarist shouts, which he never does, and that shuts up the drummer and the lead singer. Roger huffs and puffs and adjusts his shirt, keeping his gaze away from Freddie. “You,” Brian points to Freddie, “have to stop being so judging and accusing. Roger’s a good person. And you,” he looks to Roger, “don’t be so dramatic. It was just a comparison.”

“Well, I feel great when I’m compared to a rapist!” Roger shoots back angrily and Brian sighs. 

“Look, mate,” Brian says, “we support you in every step of the way, alright?” He offers Roger kind words and eyes, and Roger bends his own will and looks at Brian shyly. “We just don’t want you breaking any hearts and be known for it around the globe.”

Roger sighs. He knows what Brian’s talking about, but this time the guitarist is wrong. The drummer shakes his head. “This is not the case.” He says quietly, and then he realises the next words he wants to say are true. The truest feelings towards her that he has. “I love her.” Roger adds in an even quieter voice. 

That takes everyone by surprise, even Roger himself, widened eyes looking at the floor. John grips Roger’s shoulder and smiles at him. “That’s great, mate.” He says. “I’m happy for you.” Roger returns a small smile. 

“Alright, I’m sorry.” Freddie says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He apologises to Roger, and he watches the vocalist. “I’m sure she’s lovely. I just pity all the good birds you lose for whatever reason it is each time.”

Roger nods. “Thanks.” He replies. “Thanks, guys.” Brian smiles and puts a hand on Roger’s other shoulder. 

“Well,” the guitarist says, “are we ever gonna meet her?” He asks and the band laughs heart-warmingly. 

Rumors spread and the news traveled fast of Roger’s and Y/N’s relationship. She was the hot girl of university, everyone wanted to talk to her and spend time with her, even take photos with her on their cameras. The so-called 'popular girls’ even became friendlier to her and wanted to know every detail of her relationship with Roger Taylor, like everyone. 

She was getting tired of it at some point, but now she’s used to being the almost-star of the school. Y/N’s been very polite to her peers and fellow students about how she’d like to be treated, so there are less privacy intrusions and studying interruptions than before. But when Roger comes by her school, it’s either complete mayhem or the deadliest fo silences. Everyone either runs to the pair of them or keeps their distance, but looks and talks. Y/N feels like an alien by the way the other students look at her, and so she turns closer to Roger.

Roger is, of course, flattered by the attention and likes showing Y/N off at any opportunity. But he knows she doesn’t like that much attention on her, especially not knowing who to trust of all the people she meets. So he shoos off all the paparazzis or media people or anyone who’s bothering his girl. She loves it, but tells Roger there’s no need. To which he, of course, argues.

This is the first relationship that Roger hasn’t ever thought of running away from or going with someone else behind her back. And it feels safe, secure, stable. She’s a safe haven for him at all times, Roger would casually slip through her dorm window to surprise her, or wait for her outside of school when her lectures end, if he ever misses her more than usual. And Roger misses Y/N every second they’re away from each other. 

He’s bought them both a flat, actually. Her school’s and his studio is easily accessible from it. Roger just hasn’t told her yet, but since it’ll be their nine-month anniversary soon, he will have the best chance to tell her. And he can’t wait to see the excited look on his face, and neither can he wait for them both to live together. The couple might even get a dog, who knows?


	7. Inconsolable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and Roger get into a car accident, and the news of her not surviving it might kill Roger.  
> Warnings: car accident, injuries, swearing, sad themes.

It was a drunk driver. Someone who didn’t care about himself nor about others. And happened to be on the road on the exact time you both were. Just a coincidence that led to the worst possible consequence. And then there was an argument. 

About what? Roger tried to hard to remember for the longest time, and then he finally got it. He forgot your birthday. And you didn’t tell him at first because you thought he’ll do that cliché thing of forgetting and then there’s a surprise party at home or the studio. But there was no such thing. And after realising he’s forgot, Roger got his foot cut and you both had to drive to the pharmacy for some essentials.

Then you started talking, and the talking turned into throwing insults and eventually even shouting. You both were saying nonsense, Roger more so than you because you were hurt and had already said what you wanted to. Roger was agitated because of his foot and your bad mood and your coming onto him and accusing him of not loving you. 

So he called you clingy, needy and attention-seeking. Oh, you think those are the worst? No, he also called you annoying and self-obsessed. And you both knew those words were the farthest from the truth than any other. But Roger couldn’t help it. He was angry and called faulty, and he wasn’t having any of it. 

When you both looked into each other’s eyes after he had shouted that he never loved you, that damned driving drunk crashed his car into yours from the back left side. The scenery completely changed and everything seemed to have gone in slow motion. 

Your wide eyes were shut now, your hands gripping the steering wheel. But your body was pushed forwards, over the wheel and through the window. Roger didn’t have to react, he was thrown to the side. He tried to grip onto anything with his hands, but nothing came close to touch. He only remembers seeing the glass shattering as you went through it. 

When he opened his eyes again, Roger’s head was in the grass and he was half laying in the grass, half still in the car. After he had stood up, he realised he was pushed against the door and it opened as a result, and he ended up falling out of the car halfway. His neck was hurting now and he groaned as he slowly got up on his knees and then his feet. The process was slow and painful, but he didn’t think about that. He only thought about you and finding you, seeing you, checking if you’re alright.

You were oh so very far from that. You were laying face down on the pavement, Roger could see blood around your head and body even in the dark, your arms folded next to you. It looked like you had broken your leg, or even more…

Roger staggered over to you and lifted you up in his lap. Your eyes were open, and through his blood and tears in the eyes, he believed you were conscious. But you weren’t moving. Maybe it was the shock that made him believe you were here with him still.

He rocked you both back and forth, slowly and softly, in robotic motions. He felt a pain in his left elbow and shoulder, but he wasn’t feeling it fully. “Hey, you’re okay,” Roger said to you. He didn’t know what else to say, all other words having fled his mind, “you’re okay, you’re alright. We’re fine.” His voice turned squeaky at the end, and more tears came. He’s crying, and he can’t control it. 

Soon, Roger heard sirens coming your and his way, but he stayed where he was. Holding you, crying, and murmuring the same sentences over and over. He lost all track of reality and you when they took him away from you and placed him on the stretcher. He tried not to leave your figure with his eyes, but he couldn’t. Roger was passing out and they were taking you away to where he couldn’t see anymore. 

He woke up and didn’t know where he was, what time it was. He’d lost all track of it between waking up several times and passing out again. Tests and questions and systems and blood-taking and bandages and redressing and… Tiring things, no wonder he slept through most of it all. 

Roger glanced around him, looking for a clock or a watch or anything that might tell him what time it was. He was in the hospital, a strange set of… his clothes on him. He didn’t remember wearing them earlier. There’s also a serious bandage on his left arm, going from his shoulder to the middle of his forearm. He hasn’t seen that before, as well. 

There are no more wires or needles on him, and Roger sighs appreciatively. There’s a glass on the bed-side table, and yearns for it, reaching over. Once he drinks the liquid, he feels a bit better. Then he feels his stomach tighten and groans, realising he’s hungry, as well.

Roger finds a clock on the wall opposite him and it tells him that it’s half past five in the evening. He sighs.

Roger waits for someone to come in and while he does, he also tries to remember what happened. The last decent thing he remembers is holding you in his arms, crying and mumbling in your deaf ears. You didn’t hear him anymore. You didn’t hear anything. But he didn’t know that. And for a while, it’s better for him not to know. And now he wonders where you are, how you’re doing. You’re probably in a hospital bed, sleeping, drugged and wired up.

A nurse comes in, dressed in white, her hair brown. She has similar features to yours, and Roger almost mistakes her for you at first. “H-Hi.” He says in a quiet voice, and then clears his throat.

The nurse gives him a polite smile and grips her clipboard in her hands. “Good afternoon, Mr Taylor.” She says. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.” He says at first. “Nothing hurts, if you’re wonderin’ about that.” 

“Good to hear that. Your arm, your head, your back—none of them hurt?” She asks and Roger nods. “Alright. Now, please tell me what’s your relationship with Y/N Y/L/N. You both were brought in together and seemed to be carrying each other’s blood on your clothes.”

“Sh-she’s my girlfriend, um…” Roger gulps and looks down, his eyes frantic, “my-my girlfriend, yes.” He looks back at the nurse with hopeful eyes, hoping she’ll tell him anything about where you are and what’s your condition.

“Does she have any family?” She asks and Roger nods.

“Her mum and sister.” He responds. The nurse nods and writes something down on her clipboard papers. Roger watches her do so with anxious eyes. “Can-can you tell me about her? Where is she? Is she alright? Can I see her?” He can’t contain his curiosity and anxiety anymore, he has to know something. They have to tell him what’s happening, it’d be purely heartless to keep him in the dark from any news.

The nurse looks down and folds her arms behind her back. Roger watches her anxiously, fiddling with his hands on the edge of the hospital blanket. The nurse walks a few steps closer to Roger’s bed, but doesn’t reach it. Only a few steps closer. Roger gulps.

“She was brought in without a pulse, without a heartbeat. She wasn’t breathing.” She tells Roger. “I am so sorry, Mr Taylor.”

Roger can see the sincerity and hurt in her own face, but he doesn’t understand what she’s said at first. “Wh-what do you mean ‘sorry’? Is she not here?”

“We couldn’t regain any life in her body. I truly am sorry, Mr Taylor. There was nothing we could do, unfortunately.” She explains to him further and Roger’s own heartbeat and breathing stop for a second.

“She’s… She’s…” 

Those were the last words Roger said before he started screaming and shouting and throwing everything around. He was uncontrollable, and the nurse was scared of him. He was shouting profanities, threats, denying words. He was crying and screaming his voice out. The nurse ran out, rushing her coworkers to get into his room and fix him a sedative.

Due to a drunken situation or simply a stupid decision, Roger Taylor’s closest to-call person’s number belongs to Brian May. The secretary sighs and dials the number on the phone and waits for the man to answer the phone. Once he does, she speaks without hesitation.

“Hello, is this Brian May?”

“Yes, who’s calling?” 

“This is Saint John’s hospital calling you. You’re written as Roger Taylor’s first contact person.”

“Oh, dear, am I really?” Brian sighs and shakes his head. “Alright, then, um—what’s happened?”

“Mr Taylor’s in the hospital, recently sedated due to an anger breakout and he’s soon going to wake up. We think a familiar face might bring some peace to him.”

“Well, what’s the—alright, I’ll come and find out if you won’t tell me now. Goodbye, then.”

“We’ll be waiting for you, Mr May.” The secretary says and ends the call. She puts the telephone down and fills out a form that is to be signed by Mr May when he arrives.

He came quicker than she would have thought, seeing the familiar lanky frame and head of curls of the rockstar walking down the hallway ten minutes after their call. She smiles when he reaches the her table. 

“Hello.” Brian says to her, and she nods.

“Please sign these forms.” She says and gives the papers to him. Brian huffs and sighs quietly to himself, while also humming a tune, giving the hospital papers his signature and check marks. He gives them back to the secretary, a tight-lipped almost smile on his face as he looks at her almost shyly. “Thank you. Mr Taylor’s in the 322nd room, first door on your right when you turn the corner. He’s awake.” She shows him where he has to go and Brian nods.

“Thank you.” He says and walks away, dragging his long thin stick-like legs behind him. Brian knocks before opening the door and entering Roger’s room. His friend is laying on the bed, looking at the window. This night is gloomy for London, practically the usual look. “Hey, Rog,” Brian speaks to get his friend’s attention.

Roger turns his head to Brian slowly with raised eyebrows and his face changes into slight surprise when he sees his friend. “What are you doing here?” He asks and Brian chuckles. He closes the door behind him and walks over to the bed. Brian sits down next to his friend and Roger shimmies a little so Brian would be more comfortable.

“The hospital called me.” Brian responds. “Apparently, I’m your number one contact person in your file.” He says and smiles. Something similar to a smile appears on Roger’s lips, as well, but it’s gone before it lasted. Brian noticed, though. He saw the glimpse of hope. “How are you doing? They told me you were sedated after an… anger burst-out?” Brian furrows his eyebrows a bit, looking at Roger in question. His eyelids only drop a little lower and he looks at the window again.

Brian waits for Roger to speak, and he doesn’t, for a while. “Someone crashed into us.” Roger says quietly. “Sh-she fell through the window. The front windshield.” He tells Brian and he tenses a little, feeling sorrow for Roger and you. “And she…” Roger gulps down his tears, but his sadness and anger can be heard in his shaky, squealed voice. “She didn’t survive, Brian.” Roger shakes his head violently, still not looking at Brian. 

“Rog…” Brian says ever so softly. As softly as a feather falling against a glass window. 

“They couldn’t bring her back. They couldn’t restart her heart, they couldn’t power her lungs, they couldn't—” Roger stops himself and looks around. “FUCK! They could have done fuck all, but they did nothing and stood by while my girl was still revivable! PISSPOTS!” Roger shouts and Brian brings his hand to Roger’s, trying to do anything to calm his friend down. Roger cries, but wipes his tears at the same time with the back of his hands. “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault, Brian.” He repeats over and over, crying heavily. 

“Don’t say that, Rog, that’s not true—”

“It is!” Roger exclaims, looking at Brian finally. “It is thoroughly my fault from start to finish and now she’s DEAD!” He screams and Brian brings his lips together, hoping no doctors will come by and sedate his friend again. Roger’s tears keep falling and he sobs, looking at the boring window again. He calms his own breathing, but Brian can see the tears coming down still. “We were arguing. Because I forgot her birthday, you know—”

“Yes, I was there last night.” Brian nods and Roger looks at him.

“And then I got my stupid foot cut and we had to get bandages.” Roger tells Brian. “And then we started talking, shouting, insulting each other. And then some cunt’s car—”

“Roger!” Brian scolds him for the horrible word. For all they know, it could have been an accident, a sick or mental person driving. They’re bound to know the truth only in a day or two.

“—crashed into ours and she—” Roger stops himself, sniffling and wiping his face. “And I held her, I held her to me. I thought her arm was broken, and I thought she was conscious, but I didn’t even notice that she wasn’t moving.” Roger looks back at Brian and more tears start falling, like rain now, down his cheeks. “She died in a second, Brian. A second! A fucking—” Roger stops again and looks away, trying to get his tears out by blinking. “Could have prevented it all. Could have been with her now.” Roger starts crying again, more heavier than previously and it breaks Brian’s heart break to see his best friend like this. He’s never seen Roger so visibly broken, in such a state of despair. 

Brian sits closer to Roger and puts his arms around the small frame of the drummer, pulling his best friend against his chest. He feels Roger’s bandaged arm against him and puts a hand on his hair. Brian lets Roger cry all he needs, and neither of them care how it’d look if someone walked in. Roger needs comfort and Brian’s now here to give him just that and more.

Roger whines about how he lied to you, how he hurt you, how he forgot your birthday, how he said such horrible things to you. Brian listens to it all while holding Roger like a little child. Brian knew how much you and Roger mean to each other, and now that you’re gone… it brings a few tears to his eyes, as well. You were a sunshine, a person full of love and life and support and just… everything good. Brian noticed how happy you made Roger and how he always wanted to be by your side. What broke Brian was that Roger mentioned something about proposing to you soon. Roger was so happy about it, excited. Excited for you both and the future you could have had together. 

“Please don’t blame this on yourself, Rog,” Brian says softly when Roger’s sobs have grown quieter, “weighing yourself down in this situation is the worst you can do.” He tells him. “She wouldn’t want this.” He then says, quietly, careful of how Roger might react to those words. Nothing changes in his demeanor, and Brian is a bit relieved. “I’ll keep you company here. I can call Freddie and John—”

“Please,” Roger pleads softly, “no one else.” He says. Brian nods and pats Roger’s back. He lets go of Roger, and the blonde drummer falls into the soft hospital bed again. A shaky sigh leaves his lips. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Brian asks and Roger nods, looking at his best friend. “I hear they have killer eggs here.” He says, smiling sheepishly. Roger only looks at Brian, not replying anything. Brian understands it well, not asking anything more of his grieving best friend. He needs time.


	8. It's Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing a groupie in your band that you've got eyes and heart for is not easy. Or...  
> “Hey I want you forever hoe” + “I want us to be boyfriend and girlfriend” “Under one condition... I get to be the boyfriend”

Nothing had ever been harder for Roger than this. Exams he could pass, surgeries he could bear, drum rhythms he could master and falsettos he could pull off, but watch the woman he’s so hopelessly fallen in love with flirt and sleep with his band-mates was something he couldn’t stand. He felt like he would die from this pain and torture.

Yes, he is a dramatic person and takes everything with a bit higher notch of drama, but imagine your own self in his situation. 

Roger always saw her slipping away with John or Brian before into a hotel room, or a back room, or a toilet or any other place he’s been with her, as well. But he knows that they probably don’t want to know what makes her heart swoon, what makes her smile when waking up and what foods she does and doesn’t like. The guitarists only care for what she likes in bed and what she can do for them, and Roger’s sure of it. He knows he wants to know every detail of her, and now he probably knows most of them. He’s noticed a lot, even little things that his bandmates laugh at, but he doesn’t. But they’re not such careless sex animals like he thinks. They definitely are not, but his love for the girl has clouded over his vision of his best friends.

He realised his feelings quite a while ago, five and a half months ago to be exact, and they’ve been tearing him up since. Roger started to get jealous, possessive, moody and grabby. It had weirded her out, but she payed no mind to it.

The girl had to bear with the band’s moods and behaviors and different cravings in which ever time of day they preferred. Even with Freddie’s, who wasn’t attracted to her gender, even he managed to get on her nerves, though she never showed her agitation. She loved the boys too much to be angry at them.

She was always with them, going to lunch, sleeping alone and with them (literally) in hotels, fixing up instruments, recording, etc. The guys often admitted to feeling like they were using her in ways more than one, but really, she was happy to help them with anything they needed. She was a kind and giving girl, and amazing in bed. Add better money and attending business meetings, and you could call her their assistant. 

Roger was involuntarily clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth as he watched her kiss Brian and nip at his jawline and neck, both their giggles and words merging into soft moans. It made his dick hard to hear her moan, but when he heard Brian’s, his dick got the same effect it’d get if Roger saw an old chinese lady naked. And that’s nowhere near enticing.

He can’t help the quiet growl of his to escape and he rises to his feet from the loveseat, a glass in Roger’s hand. The drummer walks right by the two, staring straight ahead and definitely not blushing, and reaches the hotel room door. Just as he’s about to turn the knob and leave unnoticed, Y/N’s voice makes an appearance in the room.

“Rog, where are you going?” She asks and Roger smiles for a short moment at the nickname. He stops and huffs quietly. He can practically see Brian’s hand on her waist and her legs on each side of the guitarist, even if his back is turned to them both. The sight makes him angry and sad, at the same time.

“To bed.” He replies courtly, still not turning around.

“Aw, come on, mate, stay.” Brian chirps, knowing Roger doesn’t say no to social events or drinking or simply spending time with his friends and groupie. Roger’s glad his best friend is behind his back, cause otherwise the guitarist would be facing an agitated look of his face and a roll of Roger’s blue eyes. “Maybe you’d like to join us.” He suggests and chuckles, and Roger has to fight off a scoff. 

“Fuck, no.” He responds, maybe a bit too harshly, and the guitarist furrows his eyebrows. She frowns, because she remembers all too well Roger throwing the idea of a threesome her and Brian’s way, and he wasn’t drunk, so he should be able to remember it, as well, if he wants to.

Brian looks at her with the pure look of shock and disbelief on his beautiful features and her face almost matches hers. Her features show a bit more concern than Brian’s. “What’s gotten into him?” He whispers and she shakes her head while her teeth are biting on her inner lip and she’s thinking. 

“Roger, wait,” she tries to stop him, but Roger doesn’t hesitate and walks past the door.

“Good evening.” He bids goodbye to them before disappearing out the door completely. She shrugs Brian’s hands off her and steps off him, muttering quiet “sorries”. She goes through the door right after Roger, and leaves Brian alone in his room, horny and confused. Roger stays two hotel rooms down from Brian’s, and she just manages to slip inside before the door slams shut. Roger hears the footsteps behind him. “I’m tired, I don't—” he starts to say in an annoyed tone, but then he turns around and sees the girl. Her. “Oh, it’s you.” He says and turns back around, making a ‘whoopsies’ facial expression. 

She closes the door behind her and watches Roger as he pours whiskey into his glass. It’s his own alcohol, from his own proud collection. He doesn’t like overspending his money, even if he is a rockstar. He sits down at the end of the huge bed, and she quickly walks over to him, her legs lifting one after the other swiftly with ease. Roger’s jaw almost hits the floor as he watches her do so. But he tries to mask up his aroused state and looks at her with hooded eyes as she squats down in front of him.

She looks quite erotic in front of him. Her hair is a bit ruffled, and she’s only in a shirt, flannel and shorts. Roger knows she’s got no knickers underneath them, and the thought turns him on even more. If this had been any other situation, he would take her then and there, like she is. But he doesn’t just want sex. He wants more from her.

He sighs, avoiding her eyes as they gaze at him from above. She’s bent her knees and is resting her hands on them, leaning closer to Roger. He takes a sip from his glass. “What did you want, sweetheart?” He asks after gulping down half his whiskey. 

“I wanted to know what’s wrong.” She says and reaches out to caress Roger’s knee. His breath hitches in his throat, and he regrets making it as audible as he did. She well knows her effect on the drummer. “Something’s bugging you.”

Roger gives her a nervous breathy chuckle in response and shrugs. “I guess.” He replies. She notices that he doesn’t want to look at her, so she squeezes his chin between her fingers, turning him to look at her.

“Please tell me what’s wrong.” She says, and he sees the concern in her eyes. It makes him weak. “I won’t leave until you do. I won’t do anything until you tell me what’s wrong.” Roger sighs at that. 

“You don’t always have to do something… with me.” He tells her, and the girl furrows her eyebrows. “Maybe I want to just spend my time with you, and not have sex or anything else. I hope you don’t think I only want you for sex.” 

She laughs, she really laughs at that. “I’m a groupie, Roger, what else do you expect me to expect from you?” She asks and laughs again. “Water your fucking plants?”

Roger shakes his head and even chuckles quietly to himself. “It came out wrong.” He says. She looks at him, then, and waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

“So say it how it is.” She encourages. “If it’s something I’m doing wrong, if you’re sick of me,—”

“No, no, that’s the thing.” Roger interrupts her. She looks at him again, her eyes turned away when she started rambling. “Everything you do is perfect. You’re good at anything you do. But… it’s just…”

“Spit it out, Roger, you know I’m impatient.” She says and points a finger at the drummer. Oh, I know that, alright. Just like I know how you like your eggs, your favourite albums and that you hate spiders.

“It’s just that you do it with all of them.” He says finally. She stops for a minute. “I admit, I’m jealous of my bandmates, I don’t like that all three of us have to share you, I hate it, I don’t want them knowing everything about you that I do, as well, in almost all your ways.” Roger sighs. “They’re not interested in you like I am. And I shouldn’t be, because you’re a groupie without attachments and I just…” He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “I’m miserable.” He whispers.

She bites the inside of her lip again, a habit Roger’s also noticed her doing when she’s thinking or writing. She’s definitely thinking. “I would be lying if I said I wanted to leave you to get with one of them.” She says ever so quietly, actually afraid to voice her confession that’s been sitting in her stomach for a long time. She carefully looks up at Roger through her eyelashes, afraid of his response. Afraid that this all has been a joke or something, but Roger doesn’t laugh. He just stares at her. “Are you… Are you saying you like me? Like, like me?” She makes sure and Roger nods. And it feels like a rock falling off his heart, it’s such a great feeling. 

“I have for a long time.” He says. And she breaks out a smile, the most sincere and lovely smile he’s seen her wear. It’s a smile of gladness, relief, not being afraid anymore, not being afraid of her own feelings. A tear slips past her eye, and she immediately gets it away. She draws in a deep breath and looks at Roger properly, leaning upwards to him. “Sorry if I was ever weird.” Roger says, tracing the side of her face, and he looks at her. She shakes her head.

“I understand. I thought I was being weird.” She admits and they both laugh. Roger now shakes his head.

“You weren’t. You were perfect. Always.” He says, and their faces are so close and they’ve stayed that way for a few seconds. That’s something that’s never happened before. Roger slowly leans in and captures her lips between his, and they both sigh, content with themselves and each other. They’ve always been fast and quick and racy, but it’s the first time they’re slow. “So,” Roger says after their kiss. She searches his face. “what now?” He raises an eyebrow and she raises both of hers.

“Well,” she looks away but looks back at Roger after a second, “do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Roger laughs and nods like crazy. “B-But on one condition.” He says.

“What’s that? Me not fucking other men?” She asks challengingly, tilting her head to the side. Roger laughs, and shakes his head. “What, then?”

He raises his pointer finger, and she glances at it with confusion. Roger then points at himself. “I get to be the boyfriend.” He tells her, and she bursts into a full fit of laughter, barely able to catch her breath. Roger has to hold her waist so she doesn’t fall backwards onto the floor and he pulls her laughing face towards his. He’s finally holding the girl he’s been wanting to hold for the longest time. And it feels fucking good. Roger might cheer and howl at the sensation. 

“I think we can work that out.” She says, her thumb going over Roger’s lips as her eyes glance from them to Roger’s eyes. He watches her looking at his lips hungrily and pushes his nose against hers. They stay like that, noses and foreheads pushed together, for a while. She giggles once in a while and closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling or Roger so close and so slow to her. It’s the best feeling in the world.


	9. Fat Bottomed Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

Brian, Roger and John are all sitting around a table in a bar. It’s late at night, and they have no idea where Freddie has gone. They’re definitely at least five strong drinks in, and now looking for someone to drown them out on. Roger’s resting both his elbows on the table, and his glass is pressed against his lips, eyes scanning everyone around them.

A girl walks by their table, dressed in a thin blouse that is tucked into her high waist jeans. She’s got long brown hair that she didn’t mind straightening out, and the blouse she wears leaves a lot to the imagination because of the few open upper buttons. But what truly catches Roger’s eyes is her backside. What a size…

“Would you look at that…” he says, not really paying attention to how loudly he says it. Brian and John look at him to see what he’s talking about just as the stranger turns her head and smiles at Roger. She obviously heard what he said to his friends, and she winked at him. 

He wasn’t that resistible, either. Pretty and deep blue eyes, a kind smile that turns into a mischevious grin, all the clothes he wears fit him well. She knows who Roger is. The famous casanova drummer of the band “Queen”, and better yet, she knew him when he played in “Smile”. They didn’t have any contact, and had never really seen each other before up close.

She walks away from their table, continuing her journey to the bar. Roger’s mouth is hanging open, Brian fears that his jaw will hit the ground. “Well, Rog, you either get her or we’ll have to get some needle and thread to sew your mouth back in place.” He says to his friend.

Roger chuckles and averts his gaze from the beauty. “Alright, Brian.” He says and gets up, collecting his cigarettes from the table. “At least I’m the one taking anyone home.” Roger winks at Brian and waves at John before walking away.

Are you gonna take me home tonight?

Roger reaches the bar stool the beautiful stranger is sitting at and leans against her back. “Hey there.” He says to her and she immediately turns her head to him, a little scared. But it’s just what she expected. She chuckles and looks down. “Can I buy you a drink?” Roger asks and sits down on the stool next to her. 

“Sure.” She says. “But only my favourite one.” She adds.

Roger laughs. “You sure are an interesting one.” He admits and looks at her with dreamy eyes. She’s truly beautiful. A playful smile is on her lips, her green eyes watching Roger. “Is it Blue Hawaii?” She shakes her head. “Martini?”

“No.” She replies. 

“Is it simple or a classic?”

“Who says classics aren’t simple?”

Roger chuckles at her question, it makes him want to know her better. “Just a question.” He shrugs. “Is it rum with coke? Whiskey with coke? Ice?”

“None of those. But it does involve ice.” She says to him. 

“Hmm…” Roger makes a thinking face and stares into the her eyes. 

“Are you trying to read my mind?” She asks and laughs lively. Roger joins her.

“That’s not one of my skills.” He replies.

“Oh? What skills do you have?” She asks, intrigued. Roger winks.

“Come home with me and find out.” He flirts and she laughs. 

“Would be quite inappropriate to take a girl home without knowing her name and her favourite drink.” She states. 

Ah, down beside that red firelight.

“Is it Mojito - Virgin or Regular?”

“You guessed it!” She cheers and claps her hands for Roger, while he pretends to bow, which makes her laugh. “It’s both. So you can choose tonight.”

“Alright.” Roger responds and calls the bartender over. “Two Mojitos, please.”

Silence takes over them as they wait for their drinks. Roger has many questions for the mysterious girl with a big bum and a beautiful face. So he starts with the simple one. “So what is it?” He asks her, his hand reaching towards her.

“Huh?” She’s a little confused. 

“Your name. What is it?” Roger questions. “Or am I gonna have to guess it, as well?”

“I’ll make this one easy for you.” She says with a smile. “It’s Alice.”

“Nice to meet you, Alice.” Roger replies and sticks out his hand for her to shake. His gesture makes Alice laugh, but she shakes it. 

“You too, Roger.” She replies just when Roger wanted to tell her his name. A look of surprise crosses his face. “Oh, yeah, I know your name.”

Roger chuckles, he’s a little taken aback. “W-well, how?”

“My friends drag me along to many rock gigs at pubs, and well, I tend to enjoy rock music.” Alice tells him. “It’s not hard finding out who each of you are because of all the fans or groupies, whatever you call them.”

“Oh.” Roger drags it out.

“They seem to know more about you than your mums would.” Alice admits and laughs. “That’s how I know you. I’ve been coming to gigs ever since “Smile”.”

“Really? Wow, thank you.” Roger thanks her. “That’s not so common for someone to know us before Queen.”

“You were all we had at university, at nights when we’ve got no homework or are simply looking for fun.” She explains and then looks up at Roger with a smile. He chuckles at her, and watches her eyes.

Around three Mojitos down for each of them, Roger and Alice have kept banter going between them. They talk about different things, and enjoy each other’s company. 

“Will you take me home tonight?” Alice asks suddenly and quietly, almost in a whisper. She’s leaning into Roger, and it takes him by surprise. His eyes are a little clouded. He gives her a grin. 

“Gladly.” Roger admits and that gives Alice the approval to lean in and kiss his lips. They taste just like her own tongue - like a Mojito, but with a little bit of cigarette smoke added. Roger inhales through his nose and his hands press against her cheeks. He’s a little scared that she’ll fall off her chair.

Alice smiles against his lips and kisses him again. He responds with many kisses himself, and the innocent kisses grow into quite the heated kissing session. They’re both panting, and one of Roger’s hands slips down to her bum, caressing his hand over one of her cheeks. Alice laughs at that, and pulls away.

“That’s something to do in a private place, don’t you think?” She asks Roger and slips off of the barstool with ease. He’s immediately on his feet, and puts a twenty pound bill down on the bar counter. He hurries after Alice, afraid she’ll run away from him before he gets the chance to catch her.

She’s right there, waiting for him outside the bar and Roger immediately kisses her again once he sees her. Now she’s taken by surprise. Her arms hang around his neck when his are holding her close by her waist. Kissing Roger is similar to being on drugs. She wants more, and more, and more, with every kiss they share. 

Alice pulls back for a second, panting. “Do you live far from here?” She asks and Roger pulls her back for a kiss. He can’t get enough of her. He wants her, he needs her all the time now that he’s got a taste of her. 

“Not really. But we have to get a cab.” He finally responds. They do exactly that, walking to the edge of the street and flailing their arms out to get a cab’s attention. A few taken ones pass them by, but soon enough they are picked up by a white cab. 

Roger and Alice get in the backseat and Roger gives the driver his address. The second he finishes talking, Roger’s lips are on Alice’s neck. She’s breathing heavily, she can barely take anymore. Roger is turning her on with every passing second. 

“Roger…” she sighs and Roger thinks he’ll faint. When she says his name, it’s the most beautiful music to his ears. Alice’s hands are messing up Roger’s hair while he’s pressing kisses everywhere - on her neck, collarbones, face - all around. He wants to taste every bit of her sweet skin.

“We’re here. 4, 55 from you, sir.” The driver says when the car stops at Roger’s apartment door. Roger can barely count his money, so he gives the driver a ten pound bill. 

“Keep the change.” Roger says to him before he steps out of the car, and helps Alice get out as well. She climbs out and Roger pulls her up by her arm, and she collides into his chest. She looks at him and giggles.

The cab takes off while Roger fumbles with his keys to unlock the door. Alice is right behind him, leaning against him and moving her hands up and down his arms. She’s almost moaning, and to feel her breasts pressed against his back makes it harder for Roger to put his keys in order. Alice is panting behind him, and it drives him crazy. 

The door is finally open, and the pair almost fall into the first room of the apartment. Alice laughs a little more than she’d like, and takes off her jacket, putting it next to her shoes. Who knows where Roger puts his coats? 

Alice leaves him to walk around the place. While she looks around, Roger - being the gentleman that he is - takes her jacket and puts it up on a hanger next to his own. “There’s so much space here.” Alice says from the living room. Roger hears her, but can’t really listen. His blood is pumping in his ears. 

He finds her by the sofa in the living room and immediately pulls her to him. He savours the smell of her perfume and then turns her around so they’re facing each other. Alice is laughing when Roger kisses her lips for the 100th time tonight. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He says lowly and then chuckles. 

Are you gonna let it all hang out?

Alice doesn’t respond, she only kisses him and then bumps his nose with hers. “Where’s your bedroom?” She whispers and Roger grins. He takes her hand and walks further into the apartment to his bedroom. Alice’s eyes scan over his walls. They’re filled with pictures and posters. She hopes she’ll have the time to see each of them. 

Roger pulls her into the bedroom and in an instant, they’re on his bed. “You’re quick, aren’t you?” Alice says to him and then a laugh rips out of her chest. Roger raises his eyebrows quickly a few times at her. She stays smiling. 

Roger’s lips attach to her neck again and Alice closes her eyes. Her hands find heir way back into his mess of a hair and she sighs with pleasure. Roger’s good with his lips, she must admit. Must be one of his skills…

Alice pulls Roger back up to her own lips, and they kiss each other feverishly. Her hands roam under his shirt, and everywhere on his bare skin that she can reach. Roger’s, however, are slipping down to the lower part of her body. His hands dig into her bum, and Alice almost yells in pleasure, though she covers it up by a moan. Roger grins at her.

She realises what his liking is in her and she chuckles once again. Alice shuffles up in the bed and then moves around so that she’s sitting on top of Roger’s thighs. His grin widens and Alice can see that his eyes are clouded completely by lust. 

Alice takes the hem of his shirt in her small hands and then lifts it up and over his head. She leans down to him, their chests touching, and kisses him while moaning. Roger’s hands reach back to Alice’s bottom and as she’s leaning further into him, and she knows he’s satisfied. 

Her right hand reaches down to Roger’s waist, and down lower. It unbuckles his belt and opens the zipper as slowly as Alice can, loving to tease. Roger groans and his head falls back onto his sheets. “God, Alice.” He moans out when her hand just slightly goes over his clothed package.

She wonders if the size is as incredible as it seems. As Alice starts to lean downwards Roger’s body, he stops her. She shoots him a questioning look, but Roger only pulls her back up and then gets on top of her. Roger pushes her closer to the headboard, and stays right where he is - facing the space between her legs. 

He pops open the button of her jeans and slides them down with ease. Alice is watching his every move, and their eye contact remains, intensifying by the second. She’s panting heavily when he comes back up to his position. Roger kisses over her white underwear and Alice lets out a shaky moan. “Roger…” she sighs.

“You’re wet, love,” he states and kisses her panties again, “is this all because of me?” Roger looks at her eyes and they close, her mouth whispering a silent ‘yes’. Roger chuckles lowly at her answer and hooks his fingers in her panties only to pull them right down her pretty legs.

The lower part of her body is now completely bare and she’s yearning for Roger to do something about her squirming and the tension between them. In no time, he surprises Alice by running his tongue between her damp folds. She gasps sharply in a high voice. Roger watches her face get twisted by pleasure.

He kisses the spot where his tongue just was and then keeps on satisfying Alice with his tongue. She’s writhing around in the bed, not knowing what to do because of the pleasure Roger’s giving her. It’s not until his tongue enters her that she completely loses her mind.

Her hands are gripping the sheets, going in her own and Roger’s hair, but it’s still not enough to let out all the pleasure. She screams his name from time to time, and just when she’s about to reach her peak, Roger gives her one last kiss and pulls away, sitting up. 

“Please, Roger, please!” Alice almost cries in desperation. Roger slips off his jeans completely and grins at her.

“Please what?” He asks Alice, and kisses her stomach a few times, igniting the bursting flame in her core. “What do you want me to do?”

His low and seductive-kind-of voice drives Alice mad. “Just do anything… anything!” She begs him and Roger smiles devilishly. He slips Alice’s blouse over her head and throws it away to lie on the floor. Roger leans down and presses his lips against hers. Alice moans in response, and pulls him even closer to her, if possible at the current moment, her hand on his cheek. Even when she’s losing control of herself, she’s the sweetest, Roger thinks.

“Are you ready for me, love?” He asks her while he takes off his own underwear. She eyes him nervously and her eyes widen at the actual size of him.

“Oh, Roger, you’re big.” She says and throws her head onto a pillow, moaning. “That’s a good question you asked.” She admits. It makes Roger laugh and he then leans down to her, caressing her cheek and she looks at him. 

“Don’t worry,” he says and Alice can see he loses himself at the thought of being inside her, “I’ll take care of you. Tell me if it hurts.” Roger winks at her, which makes the mood a little lighter and Alice smiles. Roger reaches down between them both and lines himself up with her entrance. He looks at her before entering, as if asking for permission and Alice nods. 

When he enters, Alice moans like crazy. Roger sighs, quite content with the feeling of already being halfway in her, but can’t wait for the rest. “Roger!” Alice cries when he’s fully inside her. 

“Dear God…” Roger’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he falls down on top of Alice, but then keeps himself up with his left arm. “You feel so good, angel.” He says in her ear and smiles as much as he can. Alice is moaning as she tries to catch his eyes. “Is it okay if I move?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please move…” She nods and then kisses Roger before he starts to move himself in and out of her. The pleasure is much too overwhelming, and Alice almost faints at the sensation. 

Roger’s hands hold on tightly to her waist when he starts to move faster. He’s afraid she’ll break like a piece of thin porcelain (a/n: this stupid over-used metaphor, blergh). Alice, however, brings him down to her level by putting her hands behind his neck. Roger obliges and they kiss each other like crazy. She’s pretty sure the sweet taste on his lips is herself. 

“Are you close, baby?” Roger asks her when they’re apart. Alice nods and kisses him again, wanting to do nothing more for the rest of her life. “Me too…” Roger trails off and moves his kisses down to her chest. It’s arched upwards, and covered by Alice’s white bra still. 

Her breasts are soon covered by love marks, and she can barely breathe by the time they both reach their orgasms. The side of Roger’s face is pressed against Alice’s stomach when he finally cums inside her, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

Alice and Roger lay in his bed for a while, waiting for their breathing to become even again. Once Roger’s heart and breaths are calm, he lifts his head and looks at Alice. She’s completely spent, and barely conscious. Roger smiles and kisses her lips before pulling out—which draws a whimper from Alice—and standing up from his bed. 

He finds his own shirt, and puts it on before finding another one for Alice. As much as he wants for her to sleep naked, the heating during colder spring nights is quite poor. Roger helps Alice put on one of his flannel shirts and then leaves her to sleep while he walks to the bathroom.

Before exiting the room, though, Roger looks at the sleeping beauty. She’s even more beautiful when she’s completely spent and fucked out of her mind. Roger chuckles to himself and a thought pops into his head while he walks down his hallway.

“Fat bottomed girls

You make the rockin’ world go round…”


	10. Thank God It's Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger comes home on Christmas.

Each month, week, day and honestly even hour and minute that Roger wasn’t home, Rose was suffering. He was on tour with his lovely band - Europe + USA tour - and had been since mid October. It was now the middle of December and with her busy work and family schedule, she had started to feel emotional pain from not being with Roger for that long.

Every time that she had planned to get on a plane and surprise her husband, something either came up or happened which caused Rose to stay home in England. She hated that, every damn time.

It was nearing Christmas, and Rose had already got everyone presents, including—of course—Roger. The Christmas tree in her parents’ house was decorated, the one in hers and Roger’s shared home was, as well. 

To drown out her boredom and heart aches, she listened to Queen and Christmas records, read books, cleaned the house, rearranged some furniture in most of the rooms, etc. Whatever took her mind off Roger being gone in the quiet moments.

‘Tis the day of Christmas Eve. Roger’s supposed to have a break during Christmas and New Year’s from all the touring and recording, and he’s supposed to be home tomorrow. Rose arrived home an hour and a half ago, it’s currently well past eleven in the evening. Straight from work, she was called by her mother to get to the hospital to see her granddad and give him her present for him.

Rose is wearing a pair of pajama shorts, a pink shirt and a cardigan that stretches down to her knees. Not to mention her awesome knitted socks that her grandma gave her last year for Christmas. Rose’s eyes were focused on the telly as she lay comfortably on her and Roger’s bed. She’s watching some sort of comedic TV show, which only makes her laugh once or twice instead of all the time, as the “laugh track” suggests.

The house is warm, but from sitting in one position for more than an hour, Rose is cold. She starts to pull the blanket over her legs, because she’s also quite sleepy as of now, but is stopped when she hears a noise downstairs. Her eyes widen and all of her sense heighten when she realises it’s Roger - the front door just shut and bags were dropped onto the floor.

Rose turns of the telly and then runs down the hall, down the stairs and that’s when she sees him. Roger’s standing in front of the door, a few meters from the kitchen, his bags at his feet and he’s looking at the big Christmas Tree Rose has put in the living room. 

She can’t contain her excitement and love and happiness. Rose runs down the stairs and squeals like a little girl—or one of Roger’s fans—as she does. Roger’s head is immediately turned towards the high noise and his face spreads into a smile once he knows it’s Rose. He takes off his jacket quickly, before Rose jumps with all fours on him. It takes everything in Roger to not fall over on his back.

He throws his arms around Rose and holds her close to him. Rose cries into his shoulders, and they’re happy tears. “You’re home! You’re home.” She cheers and then pulls back her head to look at Roger’s face. He’s tanned and tired. Rose immediately kisses his lips, and Roger fears she’ll eat him up right there on the spot by how hungry she seems for him. “Oh, Roger, I missed you so much!” She says and then hugs him again.

“Hi, love.” Roger says to her finally and they both laugh. Rose pulls her head back again and looks at Roger lovingly, as does he. “Rose… God knows how I’ve missed you.”

“Are you sure it’s not “God only knows what I’d be without you”?” She asks him with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin. Roger laughs.

“Maybe, but not really.” He admits and then bumps her nose with his. “I missed you so much, angel.” 

“I missed you, too. Horribly.” Rose replies. “One day I thought I’d really die.”

“I would never let that happen.” Roger says and Rose laughs. “Can’t die because of me, love. I love and adore you too much.”

“I love you too.” Rose answers and kisses Roger again. “I watched every interview, every broadcast, everything! I didn’t miss a thing.”

“Then I bet it’s just like being there with me, huh?” 

“No, not at all.” Rose shakes her head. “I’d love to be there with you.”

“Then you’ll come with me on our next tour.” Roger announces proudly, his head high. 

“Oh, no, I can’t.” She says. “I’ve got work - they’ll fire me.”

“That’s no worries. I’ll just take care of you.” Roger says.

“But Roger, I’ve got family here. They need looking after.” Rose says. Roger nods, defeated. “And you have a family here, as well.” She says shyly, looking in his eyes through her eyelashes.

“Yeah, I do, but—what’s that look in your eyes?” Roger asks suddenly with a suspicious face. Rose chuckles and lets her head hang down. “What have you got under your sleeve except that gorgeous body?”

Rose blushes and giggles. “Well, I did want to fly out to France and tell you there, but I figured it’s better to do at Christmas.” She says and climbs off of Roger. He watches his wife carefully. “You know, Christmas is a time of love, sharing and family. And this has been on my mind for a month or so—I’ve known it for that long—and I knew that telling you before you arrive would be torture, so—”

“Are you wearing that sexy costume underneath this or what?” Roger interrupts her, watching her with squinting eyes. Rose laughs.

“To your disappointment, no.” She says. “I have something—I think—much better.” Rose takes a pause and looks at her hands before she looks up at Roger again. “We’re expecting, Roger.” She states. 

Roger watches her for a moment before complete shock crosses his face. His hands go to grip his long hair, and he steps a little away from Rose. Roger’s eyes widen and his mouth opens all the way. “ARE YOU JOKING?!” He exclaims, the happiest expression on his face. Matches the one Rose wore as she ran down the stairs previously.

“No, Roger.” She says quietly and puts hands over her ears when Roger cheers quite loudly, arms in the air and everything. It makes Rose laugh and she waits for him to calm down. She doesn’t have any time, though, because Roger picks her up by the waist and spins Rose around right in front of the Christmas tree. 

She squeals out of surprise while Roger’s shouting multiples 'yeses’ and “I’M GONNA BE A DAD!” through their house. He slows down and puts Rose back on her feet. “I feel a bit… faint.” She admits.

“Oh, sorry, my love! Gosh, I didn’t want to do that. Is the baby alright?” Roger’s mumbling questions and apologies and then kneels down in front of Rose. He puts his ear over her tummy and listens closely, although the only thing he hears is his own heart beating rapidly in his chest. “Oh, I hear it! Wait, that’s… that’s my own heartbeat.”

This makes Rose burst with laughter. She holds a hand over her mouth and looks down at Roger. He’s caressing her belly. 

“Hi, little one.” He talks to it. “Your Daddy’s here. And I’ll try not to leave your mum alone for such a long time anymore.” A happy tear slips down Rose’s cheek and she sniffles, wiping the tear away. Roger looks up at her. “Don’t cry, my love. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not sad.” Rose says as Roger pulls her into his chest. 

“I know you’re not.” He says and Rose can hear his own voice breaking. He’s crying as well. They’re both crying like small children. “I’m so happy for us. And for the baby.” Roger pulls back to look at Rose and puts a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. “I love you so much, Rose.”

“I love you, too, Roger. With all my heart and soul.” Rose says and closes her eyes, leaning into Roger’s touch. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me, too, love. I couldn’t live without you.” Roger admits and then sighs. “Thank God it’s Christmas.” Rose chuckles at his words and nods. 

“Thank God, indeed.”


	11. Bear My Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is mesmerized by how Reader is around and with children.

“Roger! Y/N! You came, how lovely.” Veronica says to the pair and welcomes them inside her and John’s house. “The party’s already started a while ago, but it’s no worries.”

“Sorry for arriving so late.” Y/N says, hugging Veronica. “Should we give our gift to you or to the little misfit himself?” She asks. There’s a gift bag in her hand, ready to be given to John and Veronica’s son Robert, who’s turning one year old today. 

“Sure, give it to me. Robbie’s sleeping now, but he’ll be up soon.” Veronica says, and Y/N gives the bag to her. “And thank you, you really shouldn’t have bought anything.”

“We wanted to.” Roger says and puts an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. She only smiles and leans into her boyfriend while Veronica smiles and nods at them. 

“Well, come on, then.” She says and the three chuckle between themselves as Veronica leads them further into the house. Roger and Y/N soon see his bandmates in the living room, as well as their wives, and a few John’s and Veronica’s family members. All are sitting somewhere—either the sofa, the armchairs or on the carpeted floor. Everyone looks at Roger and Y/N once they enter the room, and greet them. The couple hug John and congratulate him on his son turning a year today already.

Y/N and Roger have been a couple for almost a year now, too, actually. Their relationship is the best Y/N could wish for, and they both like where they are now. No rushing, no running, just enjoying their time together. Although for a while now, Roger has been thinking where all this is going, and what’s on the road ahead for them. 

A few hours pass, and Robert has waken up, now almost going through the hands of every guest. Y/N thinks it must be very tiring for him, and won'tbe surprised if the one year old will be whining when it’s her turn to hold him. Roger and John both sit at a round table in the corner of the room, drinks in hand, watching their girls play and interact with Robert. Roger can’t take his eyes off Y/N.

“Aren’t you the most beautiful boy!” She smiles widely once Robert is in her arms. He’s bunched up in a white cloth, looking a bit like a cocoon, his wide blue eyes staring at Y/N. “He really is beautiful.” She says to Veronica, who smiles and nods, sitting down beside Y/N. “Robbie looks a lot like you, actually.”

Veronica sighs. “Thank you. But I think he’ll start showing the genes of his father as he grows.” She answers. Y/N smiles at her and holds little Robbie with her right arm, his head resting above the crook of her elbow, and sways him slowly back and forth. He’s making small baby noises, and they make her giggle. Robbie’s hands reach out to her face, and she lets the small fingers graze along her cheeks. 

“He’s so adorable.” Y/N says to Veronica with the widest smile on her face. “I love babies.” She admits and Veronica laughs. 

Roger savors that moment exactly—Y/N looking down at John’s baby with the widest smile on her lips, completely adoring the little fellow in her arms. He watches her continue to interact with the baby, and his mind wanders away. 

Would she be like this with her own kids? Y/N’s told him how much she loves babies and playing with kids, and this is only proof to that and also to how great she is with kids. Children seem to be the biggest source of happiness to Y/N, and it makes Roger love her even more.

A thought crosses his mind. One that he’s either afraid to hear at first, or one that is too overwhelming to take into account. But Roger lets it take over his mind while still watching Y/N with Robert in her arms. 

He wants Y/N to have his children. Now or later, it doesn’t matter, but it has to happen. Watching her with one makes Roger’s heart swoon. He wants her to be the bearer of his children. He’s sure they will be so beautiful, as beautiful as herself, and carry the same wonderful characteristics she has. 

She looks at John’s son with such adoration and love, and for a second there, Roger lets himself imagine it’s their own son. A little selfish, he knows, but why not ponder on the thought?

“Something wrong?” John asks Roger, looking over at him. His question takes Roger out of his trance and he looks over at John. The bassist’s question repeats in his mind, and he shakes his head. 

“No, no.” Roger replies. “Everything’s perfect. In fact, it will get even more perfect.” He admits and smiles at John widely. His friend can’t help but return a smile just like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” John asks.

“Just Y/N.” Roger answers, looking back at his girl. “Her having my kids.”

“The process or the result?” John cheekily shoots back and Roger nudges his friend’s shoulder playfully while they both laugh. “I see the admiration you look at her with. Hard to miss, actually.” He admits. “You’ve been thinking about it for a while, haven’t you?”

Roger furrows his eyebrows at John. “How did you know?” He asks slowly and curiously. 

“Hard to miss, as I said.” John replies. Roger chuckles and takes a sip from his drink. They banter back and forth about several things concerning their families or band, Roger getting occasionally distracted by Y/N.

Especially when she glances at him with a big smile on her face, Robbie in her lap. Roger grins wide back at her. He’s so happy about thinking of Y/N having his children that the mere thought of talking about it excites him like a little kid. He can’t wait having little Y/Ns or Rogers running around the house. What a beautiful future.


	12. Just One Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College couple things....  
> NSFW.

“I won’t be long.” June promises the professor just before she’s tugged out of the room. He was telling her about a project that she could work on, beside his classes. He taught June World History, and she had excellent marks in the subject and the proffesor couldn’t choose anyone else more fitting to do this. June had agreed to go through with it, and have after-class meetings to start the project. It is one of those meetings currently, until her boyfriend Roger had begged to have a quick minute with her outside, said it was urgent. June rolled her eyes at him, but excused herself before Roger dragged her out of the room.

He brings June to his car outside and stops before either of them get in it. His hands hold onto her waist and he kisses her urgently before June can even utter a word to question what is this all about. Her eyes widen and she pulls away from Roger, their lips disconnecting. “Roger!” She exclaims and searches his face for any clue, but he only puts his lips on hers again. June hits her free hand against Roger’s chest and Roger hazily looks up. “What are you doing?!” June asks. Roger only gives her a smirk in response. “I have a meeting with my History proffesor right now. I told him it’d only take a short moment.”

“I heard that.” He says slowly and puts one of his arms on the roof of the car, slightly imprisoning June from one side. She glances at his arm and then back at him, their gazes strong against the other.

“Did you seriously take me out here to shag me? In the middle of the parking lot, while I have to be in a meeting with my proffesor?!” June is astounded by him. But then again, she knows him too well to be surprised by anything Roger does. Though this is quite a shock. Most times, he respects her studies and dedication to them. Roger shrugs and chuckles darkly, and June knows that she’s cracked him. She laughs at him. “You are… outrageous, Roger Taylor.” She says to him and kisses his lips slowly, and Roger whimpers at the loss of her lips once the kiss is over.

“So you’re all for it?” He asks. June laughs and shakes her head.

“No, Roger, I’m not. I’m completely against my boyfriend interrupting an important meeting and against him shagging me in his car.” She says and looks in his eyes from below, through her eyelashes. Roger sighs.

“But I want you,” he whines and does a little shimmy with his body, “I want you, I need you now.” He says and looks at June with a pained expression while moving back closer to her. Roger’s hand moves a piece of fallen hair out of June’s face. She chuckles and then sighs, looking at him.

“Wait till later.” She says to him. “I promise, I’m all yours after I finish today. Alright?” Her hand is on his cheek that he leans against and then kisses all over.

“I’ll hold onto that promise.” Roger says and gives June one last kiss. The pain and arousment he feels in the lower part of his body is unbearable, but if it’s not long, he can probably wait. He hopes so, at least.

“Meet me at our room.” June says and pulls on his necklace a little and then lets go, walking away from Roger.

“Will do, June.” Roger calls out to her, leaning against his car with his right side. Her hips sway and so does her ponytail as she walks, and then glances at Roger over her shoulder with a shy look in her eyes. It’s going to be a long two hours, he thinks to himself, seeing June enter the university’s building.

It’s way past the two hours promised, about an hour and a half past the promised time, and June finally opens and closes the door of their dorm room. Roger’s head immediately shots up from his notes and he looks at her. “I’m so tired…” June sighs and puts her keys on the nearest flat surface. Roger stays on his bed, waiting for her to join him. She does, her school bag in her hand, June plops down onto the bed next to Roger and he scoots even closer to her.

“Let me help you relax, alright?” He asks and hovers above her, his lips instantly attached to June’s neck.

“I can’t.” This takes Roger by unpleasant surprise and he lifts his head to look at his girlfriend with furrowed eyebrows and a confused face. “I already have things to write and read for the project.” June explains. “I’m sorry.” Slips past her lips just as Roger groans and gets up from their bed. He’s angry and frustrated, she can see. “Roger, don’t… please don’t be mad. It’s out of my control.” June says, turning around to lie on her stomach on the bed. Roger groans again and throws his hand at her, as to say “what’s the point?”. June’s head hits the matress as she groans, and she takes her bag to move to another room so she could write in a more comfortable way. Roger’s in the kitchen now, doing God knows what, not saying a word. That’s his way to show frustration - no words, plain silence. June feels bad for him, and she feels sorry for having to work, although that’s very silly. She takes out her pens and pencils, books and notebooks, and starts to work away the night.

June sits at her study table, the table lamp illuminating her evening’s work and reading materials. Her head is resting against her hand, and she’s looking down at the words she’s writing. There are many crossed words and typos that she thanks God that these papers are only drafts of the actual work. June sighs once finishing a sentence and then—naturally—starts another one. She’s really tired, and it’s already past ten in the evening. She’d rather be sleeping right now.

Roger comes up from behind her, without June noticing, and his arms hang pat both sides of her head, reaching down into her lap. His beautiful gold locks tickle her neck and shoulders as his head bends down to kiss her skin with his lips. June smiles once she realises it’s Roger. He’s probably tired, too. Tired of waiting for her to end her session. June feels some sort of guilt about what she wants to say. She’s too tired and wants to ask Roger if they can just go straight to sleep. She decides against telling him, and suspects he’ll bugger off if she continues writing. He does not.

Roger’s hands slide up her sides while his kisses on her shoulders grow sloppier. Involuntarily, June lets out a moan and her eyes close at the feeling. Roger’s hands grip her breasts through her tight blouse and bra, and her pen drops onto the table, she gasps. “Keep writing, angel.” He whispers, moving his hands around her chest to get her worked up even more. June sighs in defeat and picks up her pen again. Her handwriting is faint, and she presses the pen down on the paper. Roger notices and one of his hands slip down her body, reaching her skirt. He can’t keep his hands to himself.

As June tries to remember what she meant to write further—and Roger’s name appearing instead of the actual words—his fingers (partially without meaning to) push her skirt up her thighs and finally find the place Roger’s been aching to be all day. June’s breathing almost stops, and she gasps once she’s sort of regained herself. Roger continues to kiss her neck, and now his lips have moved to her cheeks. June feels herself hot, and can’t write or think anymore. When Roger’s fingers are in her underwear is when she completely loses it. June’s face twists by pleasure and overwhelming and she feels like putty in Roger’s hands. He smirks devilishly and keeps up both of his hands’ work.

His fingers work on her clit in small rubs while his other hand massages her breast in a needy way. Roger’s hands and everything in him needs June so bad, to feel her, touch her, make her fall apart. Her eyes are shut tightly, her face muscles relaxing every once in a while. June’s breaths grow into long moans and desperate calls for Roger’s name.

Suddenly, Roger turns her a little so he can kiss her. Not having his lips on hers has been torture for the last hour and the whole day, really. He can’t pleasure her without kissing her. June moans into the kiss and her tired hands slither up to reach Roger’s back, going past his hair and neck, which is much closer. She feels herself nearing her orgasm and Roger can tell by the movements of her fingers on the back his neck and his upper back. “Come on, angel.” He disconnects their lips and looks at June’s tired features. “Come all over my fingers, love, come on…” He trails off and kisses on her neck, the hand between her legs speeding up his actions.

June can’t help the high-pitched moans leaving her mouth as she comes for the first time that night. Her head hangs back, and Roger holds onto her body, his ear against her chest to hear her now calming heartbeat. Roger’s breathing is heavy, as well. He coats up all her liquid in his hand. “Watch me, angel.” He says to June, who barely lifts her head to look at Roger as he sucks the liquid off his fingers clean. June moans again, this time sounding a bit like a wild animal and Roger chuckles darkly. Once she’s calmed down, Roger throws everything off the study table and lays June down on it.

His hands are quick to remove her skirt as she watches him, quite helpless from the mindblowing orgasm he’d just given her. Roger takes off his own jeans and boxers and buttons open June’s blouse - she’s very mad if he rips any of her clothes - as fast as he can.

Roger takes his erection in hand and strokes it a few times before looking at June. She’s almost naked and tired out, but she’s waiting for Roger. “I’ve been wanting to do this for such a long time, princess.” He says lowly and moves closer to June again. “Are you ready for Daddy?”

June’s a little surprised at his nickname for himself, but nods. “Y-Yes, Roger.” Roger steps in between her legs and her hands reach out to hold onto Roger’s back. They exchange looks of approvement and Roger finally enters her, after all this frustrating waiting and whining.

Their moans mix together in a melodic unison, and after a few seconds of being buried in June’s tight cunt, Roger starts to move. Her hands hold tightly onto his back, red marks soon forming. Roger watches her breasts bouncing a little with every thrust of his and it drives him mad.

Both of them are panting and June’s breaths melt into higher moans than she’d expected. “Fuck, Juney, you feel so good…” Roger preaches her, his eyes closed and rolling to the back of his head from the immense pleasure he’s feeling because of June. It is definitely worth the horrible wait.

“Roger… I—I’m coming.” June says, one of her hands up against her face. Both of their hair is sticking to their foreheads from the sweating and the heated movements. Roger’s hand moves her own away from June’s face and she looks at him, barely able to. 

“Look at me when you come, angel.” He says and June does as he asks. She can barely keep her eyes open due to the overwhelming ecstasy, but she succeeds, Roger keeping his hand on her cheek. Just as her moans start to grow high from her orgasm, Roger experiences the same thing. He was even surprised at how long he lasted. 

Roger’s cum trails down June’s warm walls and hers covers his shaft, and they’re both due to pass out. Roger pulls out and collapses on top of June, the table shaking from the contact. June’s panting heavily, feeling quite faint, and Roger looks at her. 

She’s ever so beautiful. Her skin is shining from the sweat and her eyes are clouded, she’s sure that she sees stars by now. Roger moves back her sweaty hair and kisses her cheek. June turns to him slowly and smiles. He returns the smile. 

“Think you can still work?” June shakes her head, and Roger chuckles. “So I thought. Let’s get to bed, love.” He stands up and pulls June with him. He looks at her thighs. “We’ve made quite a mess, don’t you think?”

June chuckles and hits his arm playfully. “I thought I wouldn’t speak after all that,” she admits, “but it’s you, Roger.” He raises his eyebrows in question. “Yes, you, you impatient flirt.” 

“You love me still, don’t you?” He asks. They walk to the bathroom with Roger pressing his chest into June’s back, his arms loosely hanging around her neck. 

“I’ll have to think about that.” She says cheekily. “I think some convincing needs to be done.”

Roger scoffs with a smile. “When you’re in such a state? Sweetheart, you’ll fall asleep in the bath in no time.” He states and June shoots him a guilty look. Turns out, Roger was quite right about that.


	13. Two Sides To The Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's two sides to Roger Taylor.

“All we wanted was to talk about the video, but then he…” Roger cuts himself short with an inhale of a cigarette. He blows the smoke out, turning his head to the side. Brian and John can see his frustration and anger clearly, and are reluctant to talk because of it. “Unbelievable.” The drummer concludes. He turns his angry eyes back to his bandmates. “What are you going to do? Or say? You two haven’t spoken much.”

Brian nods. “I don’t really know what to say.” He admits, his arms crossed over his chest. Brian looks at Deaky, who simply shrugs and looks away. 

“There’s no point in being sad about it.” Roger says, not directly at John, but meaning it so. The bassist sighs, feeling his bandmate getting bothered again. “He’s a prick and he’s made a mistake. Big fucking mistake…” He trails off and takes another drag of his cigarette. “If you want to feel sad about it, sure! The world is yours. I don’t think—”

“Rog, don’t be like that.” Brian says, squinting his eyes and shaking his head at the drummer. Roger looks at him, visibly very angered. “Let Deaky be.”

“So you’re not gonna do anything? Not gonna say anything?” Roger moves his arms around for theatrical purpose. He scoffs. “Christ, if Y/N wasn’t picking me up, I’d take that stupid porcelane giraffe of his and shove it up—“

“Roger!” Brian scolds, but is interrupted by a car stopping on the side of the street.

“Hi, Rog.” A girly voice interrupts. Roger’s girlfriend has arrived at Freddie’s house to collect Roger, she volunteered herself for it. She’s stepped out of the car and closed her door, walking around it to get to Roger. Her hips sway beautifully, covered by tight yellow pants with bell-bottoms. The other half of her body is clothed by a white lacey shirt with long sleeves. Brian and John try their best to smile at her when she gives them a radiant smile.

Roger turns to her when she’s reached him and his face completely changes to one of relief and gladness. Brian’s sure he can almost see a smile on the drummer’s face. “Hi, baby.” Roger coos, stroking Y/N’s hair. She smiles.

“Sorry, boys, I’ll only be taking one of you home tonight.” Y/N says with a smirk, her arm around Roger’s shoulders. John and Brian both nod, and Y/N senses that something is off. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ll tell you about it.” Roger says before the other two can and takes her hand, starting to lead both of them to Y/N’s car. “Talk soon, guys.” He says to his bandmates and then turns around, his hand holding onto Y/N’s waist. Brian shakes his head and John sighs, watching the pair walk not-so-far away.

Roger and Y/N sit in the back of her car, holding their drive-thru meal paper bags in hand. They’re currently in an empty parking lot, the trunk of Y/N’s car open so the two can stare off onto the road and sit more comfortably. Roger felt like doing something so mundane that he never does, so the couple drove into a drive-thru restaurant and got the first thing on the menu. 

“So,” Y/N starts and chews a fry between her teeth, “what happened?” She asks and looks at Roger sideways. Her boyfriend looks down and then takes her food out of her hands, putting it down next to her. Roger leans into her and peppers Y/N’s face with kisses. It makes her smile wide and giggle, they tickle and they feel good. 

It’s always like this. Once Y/N and Roger are alone, he’s completely changed. Y/N can see that and wonders why he’s so mean to his bandmates sometimes—at least it’s what she’s noticed. Perhaps he doesn’t think everyone deserves to see his best side. But they’re his best mates… They should be worthy enough.

Y/N holds Roger’s face between her hands and searches his eyes. “Roger, what happened?” She asks and Roger’s eyes blink a few times before he says something.

“I’m having too much of a good time with you, love,” Roger states and Y/N raises her eyebrows at that, “love you so much.” She laughs.

“I love you too.” Y/N replies and kisses him. “But please tell me what’s happened, there’s clearly something bugging you three.” She insists and Roger sighs.

“Ever the stubborn princess, are you?” He raises an eyebrow and a grin spreads over his features and Y/N laughs again. “Alright, alright.” Roger accepts defeat. He turns around so that his head is in Y/N’s lap and takes both her hands in his, kissing the top of her palms. She draws them away and moves them into Roger’s hair for a change. He hums.

Y/N knows he likes her hands in his hair, very much, indeed. His mates pick on him about his hair and nag Roger with questions whether he likes it touched or not. Roger would growl an innocent threat or a nasty joke at them usually, but not with Y/N. When she touched his hair, he would never protest.

“Freddie practically broke up Queen.” Roger finally says and Y/N stills for a moment.

“What? Why?!” She’s shocked, she can barely form words. “No, he can’t. No more Queen? No, oh, no, Roger, that would be the end of the world!” Y/N babbles, a hand going to her forehead for slight support. She looks back down at Roger. “It can’t be. I’d die without you guys making anymore music.” 

Roger shrugs. “He signed a deal for two solo albums.” He tells her. Y/N widens her eyes again and Roger laughs at her reaction. She hasn’t noticed the movements of her hands have changed. Roger reaches up to stop her hands. “Doing that, you’re going to dig a hole into my skull.” He says. Y/N gives him a sly smirk, but looks off again. “You wanna know how much he’ll get for that? Those two albums?” Roger asks and Y/N nods—hesitantly, though. “Four mil.”

“Rog, that’s crazy!” Y/N almost shouts. “Sorry. I’m just—You can’t be breaking up! You’re Queen! You stay together.” She says. “Breaking up over Freddie… I don’t know, starting a solo career? You had an album come out and nobody freaked out.”

Roger shrugs at that. “Yeah, I did.” He agrees. “It’s different… We had quite the argument.” Roger tells her, his brows furrowing. “That’s all I want to talk about.” He finishes. “How was your day? Where’d you go?”

Y/N sighs at his sudden change of topic, and looks off, moving her hair around, trying to remember what her day was filled with. “Just some errands, since it’s my day off work.” She tells him. “No band break-ups for me today, unfortunately.” Roger laughs at her joke and pokes her cheek with his pointer finger. “Hey! Stop that!” Y/N protests, trying to get Roger’s hand away, but to no avail—his other one has joined the fight. 

The silly poking turns into tickling, and soon Y/N’s writhing underneath Roger’s feather touches that drive her into hard laughter and bare ability to breathe. He’s smiling as he watches her, and then his torture comes to a close when he presses kisses over her neck. Y/N calms down from her laughing fit gradually, and Roger’s already worked his way down to her chest, still clothed. 

“I did some grocery shopping,” she says and Roger stops what he’s doing. He rests his cheek between his breasts, quite enjoying the view, and listens to Y/N’s heartbeat. It always seems to bring him peace. Y/N’s fingers have returned to his hair, caressing slow circles against his scalp, “finally bought that toaster we’ve wanted to buy for months now.” She admits with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, I wanted to pay for that!” Roger exclaims.

“Shut up.” Y/N says quietly with a smile on her face, and Roger smiles, as well. “Met my friend, bought some clothes, cleaned the house a bit. Nothing major, really.” She summarises and Roger hums. 

“Just because it may not be as grand as my everyday life, doesn’t mean it’s nothing.” He says. “I love hearing you talk about your days and daily duties.” Y/N chuckles at his choice of words. “That’s a nice reminder to hold onto, innit?” Roger asks and turns his head back to Y/N. She nods and Roger slithers over her to kiss her firmly on the lips. 

“Yes, it is.”


	14. Body Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

She never expected any of her nights to turn out like this one did. It was all a big surprise and quite a shock to her. Lottie layed in the bed of her own best friend, currently being in a situation she could have only dreamed of.

“Come on, Lot! We need—you need to—lay off a little, have a bit of fun.” Roger almost begs her while sitting on the sofa with his arm spread out on the back of it. He looks at Lottie hopefully. Her teeth are biting down on her nails, she’s nervous and confused, and thinking. She’s walking back and forth in a few meters range. “Please…You won’t regret it.”

It’s late, almost nine in the afternoon on a Friday night, and Roger wants to take his dearly beloved best friend Lottie to a night club. They both have had quite a busy and stressful few weeks, and Roger - always with the bright ideas - has a suggestion how they both could have a relaxing night.

“Roger, for all I know, you could be dragging me out to a strip club as a prank!” She exclaims, throwing her hands around. Roger scoffs.

“Why would I do that?” He asks her with a disapproving look. Lottie shoots one of annoyance back.

“Because that’s what you do. You like to tease me and make a fool out of me.” She replies. Roger rolls his eyes. “It’s true, you know it yourself, Taylor!” Lottie raises her arms.

“Not this time, Lottie.” Roger says and looks at her sideways. She sees generosity in his eyes. “Not this time.” He adds. His blue eyes sparkle in that particular way they always do when he wants something. It makes Lottie annoyed.

She groans. “Okay.” She raises her arms again. “Okay, alright. We’re going.” Lottie states and then sighs immediately, regret falling over her features as she puts her head in her own hand. Roger makes a winning gesture, and it annoys her also. “Only because I can’t resist those stupid eyes of yours.” Lottie admits.

Roger winks as he walks past her, close to her and Lottie steps back a little. He pinches her side and she yelps. “Is this what I get for agreeing to go with you?” She asks, astounded. 

Roger only raises his eyebrows. Lottie turns around to go and dress up, but not before Roger’s hand comes down on her bum. “Roger!” She turns her head to him. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?!” Lottie exclaims and walks faster to her room.

After a while of deciding and Roger’s comments about speeding up, Lottie has decided what to wear. Even though it’s the beginning of the 1980s and a beginning of a new era, Lottie likes the fashion of the previous decade. Her outfit to go are tight-fit marina blue jeans with a high waist and a blouse with long sleeves and yellow stripes all over it. 

The outfit isn’t too fitting to go to a night club, but clubs aren’t Lottie’s scene, and she doesn’t really care if the outfit is appropriate for it or no. Since she agreed last minute, she just wants to feel comfortable enough, already being out of her comfort zone. 

Lottie steps out of her room and closes the door. She walks down the hallway and finds Roger already looking at her. Lottie can’t really tell what he’s thinking. “I know it’s nothing much, but…” She trails off, not really finding the words to say next.

“Oh, shut up, Lottie, you look dashing.” Roger says without a doubt in his voice. She laughs at him, and pats his shoulder. 

“You stupid flirt.” Lottie says and walks past him to get her jacket. “So are we going or not?” She asks, putting on her boots and watching Roger stand there. “You’ve called a cab, I presume.”

“No, love, I have my own car.” Roger responds. Lottie chuckles. 

“Oh, right, forgot about that.” She says. Soon after, she locks her apartment and they both get into Roger’s car. Colour choice of the day is blue. 

They drive into the business of London town with no obstacles in the way, and Roger pulls the car to a stop right next to a loud scene. A pair of doors were decorated with blue and red letters above them, two guards, a line of people waiting and extremely loud music busting out of them. 

Lottie shakes her head and scoffs silently. She can’t believe she really agreed to be there. How loud will the music be when they’re in there? And how long will they have to stand in line for?

Roger’s door slamming is what wakes Lottie up from her daydream. She lifts her head and moves her hand so that she can oper her door, but Roger beats her to it, opening it from the outside. Lottie smiles at him and gets out of his car. Roger meets her with a sly grin as he closes the door and guides Lottie up to the club with his hand on her back. Always the gentleman, Lottie thinks to herself.

To Lottie’s surprise, she and Roger are let in without standing in the que. Roger notices her surprise and grins. “Perks of being who I am.” He says as they walk further into the building. Lottie plays dumb on purpose.

“And who is that, exactly?” She asks. Roger rolls his eyes at her joke and she laughs. Anything that he could have said in response is drowned out by the horribly loud music. Lottie winces at the sudden noise and almost covers her ears. “God, it’s as loud as one of your concerts, Rog!” She yells in his ears.

“Almost as loud, love.” He responds. “We’re much louder than this rubbish, and that’s without the audience.” Roger states and Lottie nods. “Come here, there’s a booth here that’s reserved for us.”

“A booth - for us? You were really convinced that I’ll come?” She’s surprised.

“And I wasn’t wrong, was I?” Roger asks when they reach the corner of the room, and the booth Roger mentioned. There’s a guard in front of it. “Hey, Dave.” He says to him and the guard smiles. He doesn’t speak a word, but lets Roger and Lottie put down their coats on the sofa of the booth. Roger whispers something to Dave before he and Lottie walk off, and Dave nods. Lottie’s interested is picked, but she gets her questions out of her head.

“So, what are we drinking?” They’ve reached the bar now, and Lottie’s leaning against it, checking out the menu on the opposite wall. 

“Something strong, eh?” Roger suggests and Lottie shoots him a grin. 

“Alright, drinker, pick us some serious ones, then.” She says and leans back off the counter, letting Roger have access to the bartender. He orders them both vodkas with lime and pays while Lottie takes in the scene around them.

There are so many people in the club, Lottie thinks the number reaches over two hundred. Most of them are people sucking each other’s faces off with their hands all over. The other half are either dancing and kissing on the dance floor, or hanging somewhere around the bar or in their booths. 

Many girls and women are dressed in such questionable outfits, it makes Lottie want to drink. She raises her eyebrows at one with her breasts out especially, as she passes by on heels higher than the Eiffel tower. Lottie mutters a “jesus christ” when she’s walked away.

Lottie can’t wait to see which girl of all these Roger will take home tonight, making him forget all about Lottie or driving her home. Wouldn’t be the first time. He always gets horrid shit-faced and then distracted by a girl with the most interesting face, breasts or legs of the night. In the morning, when Lottie’s walked home by herself, he gives her the worst excuse for leaving her alone and forgetting about her. She’s tired of it, honestly, and it’s part of the reason she didn’t want to agree to going out. 

“What’s got your face so serious?” Roger asks, handing Lottie her drink. She gladly takes it and swallows a fourth of the glass. “Shall we go dancing, then?” He asks when she doesn’t give him an answer.

“No, you go ahead. I’ll probably join you later.” Lottie responds with a small smile. Roger pouts.

“Why are you such a party pooper?” He asks and downs half of his drink.

“Roger, I said I’ll join you later.” She says with serious eyes. Their eyes connect for a moment, and it seems to be a silent conversation. Truthfully, it looked like Roger was undressing her with his eyes, but Lottie didn’t pick that up. Her stare was serious, and a little cold, maybe even sad. “Go have fun.” She says finally.

A look of disappointment crosses Roger’s face and Lottie turns on her heel to put down her now empty glass. She orders another vodka with lime, and turns back around to see that Roger’s gone, probably on the dancefloor. Yes, there he is, dancing like a fool. It makes Lottie laugh. Her drink is served, she drinks the glass empty instantly, and immediately orders another one.

Drinks gone one by one, Lottie watches Roger dancing by himself and using silly dance moves you could only see in American movies. She puts her umptieth empty glass down and turns to the bartender to inform him that she wants another one. When she opens her mouth to order another one, the most familiar pair of arms grabs her by the waist and pulls her away from the bar. 

Lottie yelps out of surprise and struggles against Roger, and he puts her down when they’re in the middle of the dance-floor. She immediately turns around. “What do you want, Roger?” Lottie asks in an almost exhausted voice. 

“Want you to have fun, let loose.” He says and starts to move to the rhythm of the current song, his hands still on Lottie’s waist. “You’ve deserved it.” 

“Oh have I?” Lottie asks and puts her hands on Roger’s shoulders. “And what do you want me to do? Dance like all those mad girls?” She looks around them, and Roger follows her eyes. He laughs and shakes his head. 

“I don’t care how you dance. As long as you want to, that’s all.” He says just as Lottie slips her hand into his and pulls away, her other arm going up, and Roger recognises the dance move. Lottie twirls back to Roger, their linked arms wrapping around her as she presses her back into Roger.

Baby don’t talk  
Body language  
Give me your body

She then pulls away and puts one of her hands on Roger’s shoulder, the other still linked with his hand. She laughs at how silly their position is - they’re in a night club that’s playing normal dance music, and yet they’re in a waltz position. Roger gives her a smile and puts his free hand on her waist to complete the position.

“Is this what you imagined?” She asks Roger as they move quick to match the beat of the song. Roger asks so hard it makes him tilt his head back, and it makes Lottie laugh, as well.

“Exactly what I thought,” Roger starts to say, “except one tiny detail.” He adds and puts both his hands on Lottie’s waist, which leaves her no free hand to fall on his other shoulder. She looks at him questioningly, with her eyebrows furrowed. 

Lottie notices him staring at her, and their noses getting closer with each passing second. She’s quite confused, more so by the amount of alcohol in her system. “This one thing is missing…” Roger whispers right before his lips fall onto Lottie’s.

Her eyes shoot open immediately, and she inhales through her nose to breathe again. Her hands push against Roger’s chest in protest, although she’s conflicted inside. Lottie has wanted nothing more than this, but never admitted it to herself or any other person. Then again, she doesn’t want to lose what she’s had with Roger for all these years. 

Roger feels her protesting and pulls back with a sad and also confused look on his face. One of his hands raise to touch Lottie’s cheek. “Lottie, what is it?” He asks queitly and Lottie’s eyes frantically search Roger’s.

“Roger, I…” she stutters and trails off. She looks at his chest and hits it gently with her hand again. “I just—you’re not… you’re not even that drunk.” Lottie finally says and looks back into Roger’s eyes. He furrows his eyebrows at her and then lets out a nervous chuckle, his head hanging down.

“Lottie, I don’t have to drink to now that I wanna do this.” Roger admits once he’s looking at her again. Lottie gasps queitly. “The question is… do you want to?”

Lottie can barely contain herself. She nods, biting her lip, and it makes Roger smile. He leans closer to her lips again, and this time slowly kisses her, almost teasingly, and it drives Lottie crazy. The kiss is sensual, slow and everything she could wish for. Her hands hold Roger’s face close to hers by his neck, and his hands are no longer on her waist, but on her cheeks now. 

“We probably shouldn’t forget that we’re in the center of a dance floor.” Lottie whispers to Roger after pulling apart and she giggles. Roger smiles at her. 

“Do you even feel like dancing now?” He asks her and Lottie shakes her head.

“I mean, I’d love to, but…” she can’t really voice her desires, but Roger can read it off her face. 

Just give me your body  
Give me your body

“C'mon.” He says and takes her hand in his, pulling her away from the busy dance floor where, surely, people were watching the “scene” of Roger and Lottie. 

Roger leads her through the crowded club, and soon they reach the booth he had reserved for both of them. Roger lets Lottie sit down first, and when he moves to sit down himself, Lottie pulls him down by kissing him. 

They had never kissed each other before, in their life-long friendship, never. Honestly, Lottie now had a question as to why. Kissing Roger was blissful. No other guy could even compete with him.

Roger moved her body on top of his as they continued to kiss each other. Their kisses became more heated and feverish, and their hands started to wander around each other’s bodies. Roger’s hands took particilar interesent in the front of her, and soon his right hand was slipping past the buttons of her jeans. 

Lottie eyes him cautiosly, but doesn’t stop him. Instead, she can’t contain her moans when his fingers are ghosting over her underwear. Her face changes completely and she collapses against Roger while he works on her clit through her wet underwear.

He’s looking up at her with such lust and crave clouded eyes that he can barely see her face twisting with every move of his fingers. Lottie’s panting, and lets out a high-pitched moan when Roger’s fingers enter her. 

“Oh, Roger…” she moans and clutches onto his shoulders. 

“Move, baby girl.” Roger encourages her in a low voice. “Ride my fingers, baby.”

Lottie almost faints at his words, but follows his suggestion. She starts moving up and down on Roger’s fingers—now three—starting slowly. Roger moans at how magnificent she feels around his fingers, and he can’t help his mind wonder to how she’d feel around his other friend.

“Just like that, baby…” he says, “you’re doing so good.”

“Roger, I—I don’t think I’ll…” Lottie starts to say, and Roger knows what she’d say. He swallows the rest of her sentence by kissing her on the lips. He hears her moan in the midst of their kisses, and works her off until her orgasm hits.

She’s a mess by then, resting against Roger’s neck and panting heavily. Roger takes a tissue from the table once she’s done, and cleans her up. Lottie whimpers, her clit sensitive from the orgasm. “Yeah, the tissue’s quality is out of my control.” Roger says and throws it away somewhere behind their sofa.

He buttons Lottie’s jeans up and kisses her, gripping her right cheek in his hand. Roger pulls apart then, and analyses her face. She’s quite tired, he thinks, but his mind changes when a smile appears on Lottie’s lips. Roger chuckles.

“That was… something.” She admits. 

“To put it right, yeah.” Roger replies and Lottie giggles, leaning down to his lips to kiss him again. 

“Don’t you think it’s your turn now?” She asks and Roger is taken by surprise. 

“W-What?” He stutters, and it makes Lottie giggle. He hasn’t changed. Roger can still change from a man who knows what he’s worth to a silly and shy school boy in a matter of seconds.

“Shall we stay here or…” She bites her lip, looking around. “go somewhere else?” 

“I still have to pay for our drinks, but we can go after I do.” Roger suggests with a raised eyebrow. 

“Alright.” Lottie climbs off his lap and takes her coat. “Meet ya outside.” She winks at Roger and walks away. He stays in his place for a while, trying to comprehend what just happened, but then regains his focus. Roger gets his coat and walks over to the bar.

Lottie puts on her coat once she’s outside and then leans against the outside wall of the club. She bites down on her finger and giggles, thinking about what her and Roger just did. It also turns her on, for the second time tonight.

She can’t really believe that her best friend just gave her the best orgasm she’s ever had. And it’s Roger… her mind simply can’t connect those two dots, it’s too mind blowing right now. Perhaps her brain will work in the morning.

“You come here often?” Roger takes her by surprise for yet another time tonight, walking out of the club and instantly hovering over Lottie. She chuckles.

“No, some stupid boy dragged me into here, never been here before.” She responds. Roger laughs, his facade cracking. 

“Let’s go, love.” He says and takes Lottie’s hand in his own, pulling her to his car gently. He opens the door for her and then gets in his own seat. Once Roger starts the car, Lottie looks at him. He feels her stare and turns his head. 

She blushes and turns her head to the window. Roger reaches his free hand over to her when they’re on the big street and grips her thigh. Lottie hisses and puts her hand over Roger’s. 

“I’m mad about you, Lottie.” He admits and it makes Lottie look at him again. “You make me mad.”

Lottie hums. She doesn’t know what to say, but her grip on his hand tightens. It seems like the ride back to her house lasts forever. But then Lottie realises that they’re not even close to where she lives. “Roger—” she’s cut short by the name’s owner.

“We’re going to my place.” He says simply and takes a left turn. Lottie nods with raised eyebrows. It takes another five minutes of silence filled with heavy sexual tension, and they arrive at Roger’s house.

Lottie again waits for him to open her door, and he does. When she gets out, instead of walking up to the door, Roger pushes her against the now closed door. His lips are on hers again, and Lottie sighs in pleasure. Roger kisses her lips, cheeks, nose, ears, neck, everywhere that he can see.

“Give me one valid reason I shouldn’t just take you here and now.” He whispers in Lottie’s ear and she shudders. 

“It’s cold out here.” She states and Roger shrugs, pulling himself back.

“Good enough.”

The way her hands feel around his shaft is magical. Roger’s head hangs back and he’s panting heavily, his fingers raking over Lottie’s scalp. Her other hand is caressing Roger’s chest while her lips are pressing kisses to his neck.

No, he can’t. He needs to know how she feels around him. “Lottie, stop…” he says barely audibly, she didn’t hear him. “Stop, stop.” Roger speaks up louder. 

Lottie looks at him questioningly. “What is it? Did i something wrong?” She sits down next to him on his bed. She’s in her bra and underwear and Roger’s almost bare, as well, he only has his shirt on. 

As many times as Roger had seen Lottie in this get-up, this time it’s different. She’s different. Only because now she’s his to have, and he hopes that not only for tonight.

“No, no, baby.” Roger reaches a hand out to her cheek. “You’re perfect, you did perfect.” He leans in closer to her and kisses Lottie’s lips. She smiles against his lips. 

“Really?” She asks with hope in her eyes. Roger nods.

“Course you are.” He says and laughs. Lottie gives him a smile and blushes. “I just—let’s save me for another time.” Roger winks at her and Lottie chuckles, nodding. 

“So… what do you want me to do?” She asks in such a quiet whisper that she’s not sure Roger even hears her. She’s shy about all of this, suddenly. Roger laughs and then looks away. After a few seconds of humming and thinking, he turns his eyes back to her.

“I want you to get naked…” Roger trails off as he watches his finger move the strap of her bra, “and then got on top of me.” He finishes, his eyes connecting with hers.

You’ve got the cutest ass I’ve ever seen  
Knock me down for a six anytime  
Look at me, I got of case of body language

Lottie pushes Roger down on the bed so he’s completely laying down and then disappears out of his view. He lifts his head so he can see her. Lottie pushes her bra straps slowly off her shoulders, and then unclasps her bra so it completely falls off her, reaching the floor. 

She looks at Roger over her shoulder and grins when she sees him watching her. Lottie slows her actions down even more, and tugs her panties down her legs. It’s torturing Roger and he groans. “Lottie…” he sighs and lets his head fall back onto the bed. 

But he lifts his head back up so he can watch her walk over to him. She does, and she is so beautiful and smoking hot as she walks. Her legs are moving slowly, and she knows exactly what she’s doing to Roger.

You got red lips  
Snakes in your eyes  
Long legs, great thighs

Lottie crawls over Roger with the slyest smirk on her face she could master. Her breasts barely touching Roger’s chest makes him whimper. He reaches out his arms to touch every inch of skin that he sees. His fingertips run all over her back, her breasts until they reach her thighs. 

Roger grips the back of them, earning a moan from Lottie. She puts her hands on Roger’s chest and trails them down as she sits on his thighs. Roger’s hands move to her hips, guiding her to sit down on his stiffness. Lottie lets out a gutteral scream as she slips down onto him and Roger’s head hits the pillows once again.

“Fuck, Roger…” she yells between her panting. With all the power that he still has, Roger grips onto Lottie’s hips and starts moving her up and then slowly back down. He watches as her face twists and her hair moves rythmically around her face, falling around it and framing her pretty features. How come he never saw this beauty in her before? When she had all those shitty boyfriends?

Lottie ignores Roger’s hands and starts moving at her own rhythm. It takes Roger by pleasant surprise, and he yells out her name several time while she’s at it. He knows that he won’t last long. Lottie’s hands leave little scratches and marks on his chest while his own hands are gripping tightly onto her hips. There will be marks visible in the morning, that’s for sure.

“Lottie…” Roger pants and she can see sweat beads collecting on his forehead. “I’m very close.” He announces. Lottie nods and adds a finger to her clit so she’d meet Roger’s time.

She knows that Roger’s nearing his orgasm when his hands let go of her hips and fall weak at his sides. “Come for me, Roger…” Lottie whispers in his ear, bending down to his level. He pushes her back up so that he can watch her from below. Lottie gives him a grin and then feels herself coming.

Moans, curse words and each other’s names fill the room as Roger fills Lottie up with his liquid finally, while Lottie herself comes for the second time that night. Neither of them knew that they craved this for such a long time, and it finally happened. The two best friends since birth had had sex for the first time.

Roger pulls out of Lottie and she collapses against his chest. Both of them are breathing heavily, their sweaty bodies sticking together in a mess of bare limbs. Though they’re both tired and spent, Roger takes a blanket from the edge of the bed and pulls it over the both of their heads. 

Lottie snuggles up in his chest, and Roger’s arm falls around her shoulders. He presses a kiss to her head before closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

Out of all the possible scenarios of how Lottie thought this night would turn out, this is one she’s definitely not disappointed of. She thought she’d cry, be sad or numb, tired and mostly - alone, but in reality she’s the opposite of all the words mentioned. 

Lottie thought she’d have to get home by herself, without Roger, while he’s off with a random girl met in the club. Or she thought that she’d get so drunk she wouldn’t remember anything she’s done, and that Roger would drop her off at home, and leave her alone.

Naturally, she assumes the worst of a situation and Roger, because frankly, she’s had bad night-clubbing experiences with him before. So it’s only fair for Lottie to expect the worst from her best friend.

But here she is, sleeping in his arms after a few wonderful activities with him, feeling happy and not alone. She’d never expect this to happen in a million years or all of her living years. 

YEEEHAAAAAAAAAW


	15. Evening Occurances

The clock on the kitchen wall strikes half past midnight when there’s a sound at the door. The sleeping beauty called Anne is caught out of her slumber on the sofa when she hears the noise. Finally, he must be home.

She rubs her eyes and yawns, and then sits up in the sofa and sees the door opening. Roger successfully and finally had managed to work the keys to open the front door of their apartment. Anne sighs in relief and tiredness and then gets up on her feet to greet him. 

“Hey, love.” Roger cheers, dragging out both of the words and also almost dragging himself to the ground. Anne rushes to him before he collapses and brings the front door with him. She shudders when she feels the cold from outside hit her bare arms and closes the front door after steadying Roger against a wall. 

“Hi, Roger.” She responds to his greeting and furrows her eyebrows when she hears her own voice. It’s a little cracked. “Do you know what time it is?” Anne asks as she takes off Roger’s coat and hangs it for him. 

“Not that late, is it? Don’t think it slipped past ten in the evening just a few minutes ago.” Roger admits while he’s taking off his shoes. Anne straightens out her shirt and puts on a cardigan that’s laying on the sofa. She sighs, looking at the very drunk Roger.

“No, Roger, it’s half past midnight.” She clarifies. “And you’ve got studio work tomorrow, which is why you need to go to bed now.” Her tone gets a little stern, even though she doesn’t mean it. Anne is tired herself and wants Roger to sleep as well. 

“But I don’t want to go to bed.” Roger says and walks towards her in a staggering manner. “I wanna spend time with youuuu…” he trails off, looking at Anne’s lips as his hands are moving up and down her arms. Anne scoffs. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Roger!” Anne exclaims and steps away from him, walking further into the apartment. Roger has no choice but to follow her. “You saw me this morning, when I didn’t have to rush to work. And when I urged you to stay, you said you needed to go. Don’t think it’s fair for you to whine about not seeing me, especially in a long time.” She says to him and Roger realises she’s talking the truth. 

Anne stops at their bathroom and motions for Roger to enter it. Once they’re both inside, Anne shuts the door and then turns on the shower. It’ll take some time before the water warms up, since they’re on the third floor. “Take off your clothes, Roger.” She says to him. 

Roger grins at her and winks. Anne has nothing left to do but groan and throw her face into her hands. “Quick, Roger, I want to sleep.” She knows what’s on his mind. Especially when he’s drunk, Roger is longing for Anne, to touch her, to feel her, but she’s not in the mood. Not when she’s tired. “Roger, now!”

“Alright, alright.” He says and puts his hands up in defense. Anne leans against the counter and watches him try to undress himself. His drunk arms are no help to make the process quicker. 

“Jesus Christ…” Anne says under her breath and walks over to him to help Roger. She quickly takes off his jacket, then his shirt is unbuttoned and gone on the floor. Next thing he needs help with are his pants. 

“I like you taking my clothes off so quickly.” Roger says and looks up at her with dazed and dreamy eyes. June looks at him for a moment and then kneels down to take off his pants. Roger takes her hand in his before she can, and kisses all around her palm. As much as she loves his affection, she really doesn’t want to do anything more than put him to sleep. 

“Roger, I love you, but please…” Anne almost whines.

“Please what?” Roger slowly asks.

“Please stop. I want to sleep.” She’s close to tears, she’s so tired. Roger notices and his demeanor immediately changes. 

“S-sorry, love.” He says, regretting everything he’d just done. “I’m sorry, I just… you know I—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. So please.” She says, finally ridding him of his trousers and then looking at Roger tiredly. He can barely notice the bags under her eyes. He gets up and takes off his socks and underwear, and then he’s gone behind the shower curtains. 

“OW! Fuck’s sake…” Roger shouts as soon as he gets in. “The damn water’s so hot.” He explains and Anne chuckles. “Not hotter than you, though.” 

Anne shakes her head at Roger’s comment and then sits down, her back leaning against the cabinets. “If you need any help, just tell me.” She says to Roger, knowing most times he’s drunk and showering he can’t be trusted to do everything. Roger thinks he can reach something, when in reality he can’t, and then there’s a yelp, a crash and he’s down on the floor with a mild concussion and Anne’s rushing to get some ice. 

“Well, somebody down here definitely needs some help.” He announces, and Anne gasps silently when she realises what he’s talking about.

“Roger!” She exclaims and throws a toothbrush at the shower curtain. 

“What?” Roger asks innocently, playing dumb. “Besides, I saw you checking me out.”

“Did not!” Anne defends herself. “You talk like we haven’t been together for six years!”

“You did!”

“Didn’t!”

“Did!”

“Didn’t.”

“You totally did!”

“Roger, shut up and shower.” Is Anne’s final answer to his teasing. She hears him chuckle to himself in the shower and she only shakes her head again, before the back of it is rested against the cabinet. 

A few minutes of quiet singing later, Roger turns off the water and Anne stands up, reaching for a clean towel. He draws back the curtain and steps out, immediately greeted by Anne giving him a towel. Roger takes it and wraps the towel around his waist. He then looks at Anne, who’s fixing her hair while looking in the mirror. Roger gets an idea. 

“No, Roger, you’re wet and drunk.” Anne says when she sees and feels him put his hands on her hips. “Let’s go to sleep.” But Roger won’t get away. He keeps his hands glued. Anne tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but he’s there again. She gives him an angry look and then runs out of the bathroom. 

Roger immediately follows her, and when he’s out in the hallway, she runs away again. He goes chasing her around their apartment, and Anne starts giggling. She doesn’t want to be tickled, she doesn’t want to be touched, she wants to sleep. But she’s having fun, the most she can. 

Once she’s in the living room and too spent to run away, Roger catches her from behind, wrapping his arms around her arms and frame, completely imprisoning her. Anne squeals, but then takes a few deep breaths to calm herself down. Roger presses kisses to her neck, and then rests his cheek at the back of her head, leaning slightly forward. 

Anne savours the moment, and slithers her hands over his arms. He’s so loving, so kind, so fun, and yet so… drunk. She sighs and laughs. “Let’s go to sleep, Rog.” Anne says and waits for him to move. He does, releasing her and then taking her hand in his. 

He kisses it while looking into Anne’s eyes and she almost melts. “I love you, Annie, even when you despise me.” Roger smiles at her sweetly with his eyes squinting a little and she chuckles.

“I never despise you, Roger.” Anne says tiredly. “I love you as well.” 

They share a sweet kiss that Roger wants to last, and then walk down the hallway into their bedroom. After getting both Roger and Anne some pajamas, they fall into the bed and Roger holds onto Anne until she falls asleep, and then waits for the land of dreams to take over him, too.


	16. It's You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His best friend's wedding makes Roger realise something.

It was the day. Finally the day Brian’s soon-to-be wife had been dreaming about since she was at least seven years old. It was her wedding day, and she was marrying no other than Brian May.

Y/N couldn’t hear the end of it for at least two and a half years. You see, it’s that long of a time because the band’s schedule and tours were getting in the way of confirming a wedding date. The engaged couple were a little agitated by it, but when they could finally mark a date in their calendar, they were as happy as ever.

Y/N, Chrissie’s not-blood-related sister, and Roger Taylor, Brian’s band-mate and long-term best friend, were the wedding planners. They had just as much time as the next rockstar and regular person would to plan a wedding. Roger was chaotic and unstoppable, but Y/N had grown used to it and accepted the fact that he liked to laze around and wait for someone else to do things in his place.

Many times Roger had barged into Y/N’s apartment - which had practically become their “wedding office” - and introduced her to a new idea he had while his mind was intoxicated by alcohol. Y/N would sigh and hold her head in her hands and Roger would tell her to stop sulking and start writing down the idea.

Y/N had shown Roger Chrissie’s wedding dress the day she bought it. The dress was truly beautiful - white, long and not too fitting to the body. White lace flowers wrapped the shoulders, breasts and hips. “What if I try it on?” Y/N had suggested, but Roger denied her of doing so, partly because she totally shouldn’t - Chrissie should be the only one ever wearing it. And partly because he wanted the image of Y/N in a wedding dress to stay in his mind only. Or did he?

And finally, when everything was done - a place and a “vow master” arranged, invitations sent out, dresses and tuxedos bought, food ordered - they knew the day had come.

Roger and Y/N had got themselves matching costumes - both would be dressed in yellow. Y/N bought herself a yellow flowery dress, and Roger bought a yellow suit, with a yellow tie. They were giggling in the dressing room, adjusting each other’s clothes. “This is going to be great!” “We’re the best wedding planners there ever could be!”

The two were rushing around the rented guest house once the invited people started to show up. Once in a while, they’d have to check up on different things, and asked each other if this or that had been done. Y/N had done so many things Roger would never have thought of having the time to do. 

“Have the cooks arrived?”

“Yes.”

“Have they been shown around the kitchen? Do they have the recipes and time?”

“Yes, and yes.”

“What about the cake?”

“It’s been in the freezer since 8 this morning. I’ve arranged my cousins to take it out in the necessary time.” 

Roger looks at her at that moment and wonders how she managed to do all that. A look of pure awe and admiration shines on his face while Y/N adjusts her hair, standing in front of a mirror.

“How have you done all that?” He asks her quietly.

“It’s not that hard. Takes a few minutes and ounces of frustration, but it’s all right.” Y/N admits, and chuckles. 

“Have you slept at all recently?”

“Yes, I have in fact. Why do you care?” 

“I just wonder how you’ve done almost everything for this wedding while I sulk around and speak empty promises.”

Y/N laughs. “You’re alright, Roger. Done more than I ever expected you to.”

Something rises in Roger’s heart. He doesn’t know what it is, he can’t explain it. His common sense completely falters in front of Y/N’s overtaking, devotion and energy for this wedding. Roger can now see that Chrissie’s happiness matters to Y/N perhaps just as much as Brian’s matters to him, if not more.

Everyone cries out of happiness during the ceremony, making it a total cliché. “Is my mascara still put?” Y/N whispers to Roger quietly and he takes one look at her. Yes, well, a little bit of mascara is smudged underneath her eyes, but she still looks beautiful, even when she cries. “It’s fine, I wouldn’t worry about it.” “Course not, you’re a man.”

The wedding is truly a place to be - full of joy, energy, smiles, tears and laughter. Y/N and Roger arrange the gifts from the guests each with a champagne glass in hand. The strength Y/N has in her system is unbelievable to Roger, taking that she’s barely slept during the previous night. Perhaps he’s blown away by the strength and devotion of women, or maybe it’s something else…

But when they’re sitting at the table, watching Chrissie during her speech, is when Roger’s mind starts to realise something. He doesn’t think it’s true, he doubts it, but still it burdens his mind. 

How beautiful it is to watch someone speak about their other, who they care for so much, love so much and will do anything for. Their eyes sparkle in a different way, and the tears seem to just be the detail needed in the whole thing.

When Y/N stands up to say her toast, Roger knows that his realisation is true. He can’t deny it, he can’t even stop it anymore. He knows Y/N’s the one for him.

The way she smiles when she remembers her teen years with Chrissie, the way she laughs - barely able to breathe - about an incident in the school ball with her and some guys. The gesture of her hand as it’s tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, or the way she confidently stands while talking. The shine in her eyes that radiates through her whole face, the yellow dress adding more to her looking like a sun. And the fantasy that she could currently be speaking at her and Roger’s wedding makes Roger almost cry.

He needs her in his life, to help him, to be around him. He could be the one to make her happy, give her the best wedding anyone could ever have. Roger doesn’t care that he’s watching her with hearts instead of eyes, and he doesn’t care that everyone else can see it, including the fresh man and wife. He doesn’t care for others because all he can see is Y/N.

Everyone applauds her for a wonderful and touching speech and Y/N sits down at the table. She almost empties all of her full champagne glass and then sighs heavily. She leans over to Roger. “I improvised most of that!” Y/N confesses to him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. 

“Really?” He asks slowly, taking a sip of his own champagne. 

“Yeah! You know why? God, I’m horrible, really…” She trails off.

“Go on, tell me.” Roger urges her. 

“Well, I… I sorta accidentally flushed it down the loo.” Y/N admits, her eyes not meeting Roger’s, she’s looking at her anxious fingers. Roger almost spits out his drink and then laughs. Luckily, no one’s making a speech at that moment, or it would have been ruined. “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny! I’m a horrible person.”

Roger looks at her, his eyes opened partly and smiles at her. That’s why I love you, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet.

“Why are you staring at me?” Y/N asks, blushing a little. When Roger doesn’t answer her, she moves to eat what’s on her plate, although food is the last thing on her mind. 

Roger is still staring at her as he puts his hands over hers, clasping his fingers around her fragile hand. Y/N hesitantly looks at him in question, her eyes waiting for an answer of any kind. It surely enough comes her way soon enough.

“Because you’re the one.” Roger whispers, his eyes boring into Y/N’s adoringly. A short gasp leaves her lips at his words.

;)


	17. Hypnotize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger comes home from tour.  
> NSFW.

Tours that I’m not able to go to are the worst. There’s the doubts, the neediness, the stress, the daydreams and the longing. That one’s the worst. Sometimes I feel like tossing and turning around in my bed because I miss Roger so much. I miss talking to him, waking up to him, eating together, going to his shows and rehearsals.

Of course, I miss his touch and his hands and his other physical, god-like gifts. The sexual frustration makes me crazy, as well. Not like I don’t want to touch myself when he’s not here because ‘no fun without your man’. It’s because I don’t want to. Rather wait for him than do it myself. Maybe I’m lazy?

But, Roger’s finally coming back home tonight from Queen’s UK and Europe tour, and I couldn’t be more excited. Nerves are taking a hold on me, and, even thinking that I’ll see him in a couple of hours makes me shiver. Cliche, of course, but I’ll be wearing his favourite underwear set under my flowery dress. And—another cliche—I’m making dinner and putting on a show afterwards. It’s the least I can do for my boyfriend being the wonderful man he is. 

“Now, now, there’s the usual hook-up check.” I say, stretching the skin of his face softly here and there, checking for any trace of another female that might be left on him, even if accidentally. I’ve waited for them at the airport for what seemed like forever, and now, finally being able to hold him, I still can’t resist my natural instincts. 

His bandmates snicker at my check, and Roger sighs quietly, not resisting and just waiting for the whole thing to be over. No lipstick trace, no hickeys, no puffy lips and no marks at the roots of his hair—also no hair pulled out—he’s clean. I leave his head alone and then press the longest kiss to Roger’s lips I can remember us sharing between ourselves. I’ve missed him too much. I feel Roger completely relaxing against my lips, his arms tightening around my torso and pulling my chest closer against his. My boobs feel squashed.

“I’ve missed you.” Roger whispers when he pulls just a mere centimetere away, watching my lips as he traces his thumb over them. A tear rolls down my cheek, I can’t believe he’s really here again, although it’s been three months—some might say 'only’. I smile wide at him.

“I’ve missed you more.” I reply. Our foreheads touch and I close my eyes, just enjoying this particular moment. 

“Two can play at that game, missy.” Roger says and I hear the smirk adorning his lips and giggle. Not so privately, he slaps his hand down on my bum and I shriek. “Let’s get us home.” He says and I give him a smile. We turn around and say goodbye to the guys. We walk past them to get to an available taxi that will bring us right home.

Roger sighs once he and his suitcase have arrived home. I smile to myself, locking our apartment door and turning back around to Roger. “I hope you’re hungry.” I say and Roger turns to me. He’s put his jacket on a hanger and has quite the clueless look on his face. I grin and take his hand, pulling him towards our kitchen.

“I am. And very tired, as well.” He says and tugs along with me. I stop both of us at the table and Roger gasps quietly. I look at him, my head turned to him, and grin. He’s seen the dinner and some silly decorations I chose. Nothing, really, but I liked them and thought they’d suit the occasion well. “Wow, baby.” Roger says and pulls me closer by my waist, pressing a kiss against my temple and I giggle. “Thank you, oh my. This looks wonderful.”

“So let’s jump right in.” I say and walk over to the table, sitting down. Roger looks at me for a moment, and I raise my eyebrows. He walks over to the table to sit across me, and does exactly so. 

“I feel like we’re in a restaurant.” He admits and we both chuckle, exchanging playful glances. “This might be nothing for you, but wow… Pasta with meat, tomato sauce, greens, and—what’s this?”

I laugh at his confusion. “White carrots.” I say. He says it might be nothing for me because of my profession - I’m a chef at a restaurant. I make food for the two of us when either I have time on my hands or when we have a special occasion. It’s a natural thing, but I like to leave most of it at work and not bring work home. 

“White carrots?!” Roger echoes and I nod. “What the hell are those?”

“They exist, believe it or not.” I reply and Roger laughs.

“Thought carrots were only orange.” He admits and I nod again. “Sorry I’m not that educated on the fancy vegetables, love.” He says and looks at me with sorry eyes, but I shake my head at him. 

“Bon appetit!” I say, taking my fork in my hand.

“Bon indeed.” Roger replies and takes his, as well. He digs into his portion immediately and moans. I watch his reaction, similar to the one he has when I go down on him, and it’s bound to graze my eyes many times tonight. I smirk at that. “God, this is so good, Y/N. I might have just come in my pants.” He says and I watch his face while I laugh, but his is full of seriousness.

“Well, glad you like it.” I reply and take a few mouthfulls of the pasta as well. “It really is good.” I state and Roger nods.

“It’s amazing, baby.” He says. “How did I get so lucky with you, huh?” Roger asks and nudges my foot with his. I grin, looking at him for exactly a split second. “You look wonderful today, by the way. Love this dress.” He says and I blush, wanting to hide it with my hand, but failing. Roger’s got a smirk on his face as he keeps eating his pasta. “Hope dessert includes the dress on the floor.”

“Shut up.” I laugh quietly and straighten my back. “So, how was Europe? Well, half of it…”

“Strange, really. A lot less people than we have here.” Roger responds. I nod, listening for more. “And all of them can talk english—it surprised us, even the sweds!”

“You sound a bit arrogant, Rog.” I state and he sighs. 

“Just a culture shock! Nothing more,” he assures and I nod playfully, “ah, but the crowds and the welcoming was incredible.”

“Did you try any national foods?” I ask and he nods.

“I did! I photographed most of them, got the pictures in my case.” Roger tells me and I hum appreciatively. “Most of them were alright. Some were just crazy and too much other-wordly for me. Brian liked the ones that didn’t have meat a lot. And there were few of those.” Roger says, raising his eyebrows. I chuckle. “And have you seen french and italian men? Christ! If it wasn’t for you, I’d have nothing left to lose and—”

“Turn gay?” I finish his sentence, and scoff out a laugh. Is he serious?

“Yeah. You have to see those specimens.” He says, fully serious. I keep laughing, the thought of Roger looking at men with heart eyes makes me amused like nothing else. “Laugh at me all you want, but they’re damn attractive.”

“Okay, Rog, do I have to fear that you’ll run back off to some french barista?” I play along. Roger laughs and he shakes his head.

“Just have to keep me.” He answers. “Perhaps we could go for vacation to France.” He looks at me and I raise my eyebrows, nodding.

“My dream would finally come true, then.” I say. “Working in a Paris restaurant, living somewhere in a french cottage outside the city. Having the 'French diet’ for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Roger looks at me confused.

“The 'French diet’?” He repeats. I grin.

“Coffee, cigarettes and sex.” I explain. Roger hums and nods.

“That does sound quite nice.” He admits and I chuckle. 

“Maybe a croissant here and there.” I say. Roger laughs. “Any new songs coming?”

Roger raises his eyebrows and tilts his head from side to side. “Yeah, I got some ideas, but not a song.” He says. “How have you been?”

I shrug and push another mouthfull of pasta down my throat. “Nothing big.” I say. “Oh! One time there was a bachelor party at our place and guess what they ordered from us.” I look at him with a dead-serious face.

“The fianceé’s portrait on a cake?” Roger suggests. I shake my head.

“The stupid cliché - a dick cake.” I answer and Roger bursts out laughing. “I know.” I say and shake my head, laughing as well.

“Didn’t even know fancy places like yours did dick cakes!” He says and I laugh even more. 

“The worst part was,” I say and point my fork to myself, “I had to do it.” 

“Christ!” Roger exclaims and laughs again, throwing his head back. “Can’t believe you had to go through that torture. When was it?”

“Uh, last Saturday.” I say once remembering. “And that was also the night we had the most costumers and I got a fish dropped on me.” I admit. Roger makes a disgusted face at me.

“Poor you, love.” He says with sympathy. I show him my tongue, which he smiles at, and look back down at my food. “Right, I’m already finished.” Roger says and leans into his chair with his back.

“Alright.” I stand up and walk over to the fridge, taking some whiskey and ice from it, and two glasses from the cabinet up above. I feel Roger’s stare on my thighs, I know exactly what he’s hungry for, what he’s been missing for weeks on end. I grin and turn around, trying to get the satisfaction of it off my face. 

“Aw, no, I should’ve got that.” Roger starts to say, but I shake my head. “You’ve done enough already.”

“I ain’t done yet, darling.” I say and place our glasses down on the table. Roger gives me a curious raise of an eyebrow and watches me pour the whiskey into the glasses. I put two ice cubes in each glass and sit back down, wrapping my right hand’s fingers around my glass. “When do you get your next vacation?” I ask after taking a sip.

Roger squints and takes a gulp from his glass as well, continuing to eat his pasta. “Probably after we finish our album.” He replies, but then opens his eyes wider. “Oh, no, sorry. It’s now.” Roger finally says and I laugh. “Forgot for a moment where we are in the year.”

“That’s alright.” I say. “We should do something together with the time we have, then.” I suggest and lean back in my chair, and Roger does the same. I notice his plate is empty and immediately rise back up, taking both our plates in hand and bringing them to the sink. 

“Now, those I will definitely do.” Roger says and I hear him get up from his chair, but I turn around quickly.

“Roger, just relax.” I say and point to the exit of our kitchen. “Go to the living room, alright?” I ask of him and my hand drops to my side. Roger watches my eyes for a moment, searching for any faltering or unseriousness, but there’s none to find. 

“Yes, ma'am.” He answers and is off to the room in seconds. I chuckle at his eagerness and turn back to the plates. I scoff then, and put the plates in the washing machine. I ain’t doing no dishes tonight.

I walk into the hallway where our record player stands and choose Roger’s favourite sexy vinyl. I chuckle at that and remember the moment he called it that. I put the vinyl on the player and slowly put the needle on the vinyl. I love the sound of the vinyl’s scratches before the music starts playing, and during the songs. It makes the whole listening experience much better. 

The heavy beats of Notorious B.I.G.’s first song on the album play through-out our walls, and I close my eyes as I walk towards the living room. Roger’s standing in the middle of it, and I lean against the doorframe. 

“Sit down, love.” I say softly, which surprises him and he turns around. He eyes me up and down and then does as told. I don’t like ordering or commanding him, it feels stupid when I tell him to do anything. There’s a strange feeling in me when I do, but I don’t mean it in a commanding or bossy way. This time I mean it differently.

Roger sits down and watches me walk over to stand in front of him, he then realises what song is playing—Hypnotize—and his head moves to the beat naturally. I smile at the response and shake my hips a little. Just a snippet from what I usually dance like when I’m home alone and this record is on. 

His legs are parted slightly, and his hands are by his sides as he watches me move slowly over to him. My legs move slowly, and it’s torturing him but also turning him on. The tent in his white pants is growing by the second, I grin. 

I put my hands on his knees and spread them wider apart. While I run my hands up and down his thighs, I raise my head to watch his face change. His eyes are completely taken over by desire, barely keeping his beautiful orbs on me. 

“Does this feel like home, Rog?” I ask sweetly, stopping my hands where his thighs meet his hipbones, gripping his thighs tightly. He whimpers and nods, his hand reaching up to take my cheek and bring it closer to him. My lips fall on his—the moment I’ve waited for all evening—and I sigh against Roger, completely melting into him. But I pull back and stand up, barely holding myself on my feet. I can’t wait to have him all over me, holding me, inside me.

I pull my dress ever so slowly over my body, moving my hips from side to side once in a while. I hear Roger moaning once while the dress still goes over my head, and when it’s finally on the floor, Roger’s jaw drops to the floor. 

I stand before him in the pink set of underwear that Roger so much loves, my hair moved over to the side from the dress. Roger’s head hangs back against the sofa and he groans softly. “My god, baby…” He whispers, moving his leg around so his turn-on would feel more comfortable in the strained pants, and then looks back at me. I grin and stride back to him.

My legs are on each of his sides, straddling his lap, and I put my hands on his shoulders, then moving them up and down his biceps. I look into Roger’s eyes and smile again. “Welcome home, Roger.” I say and kiss him. My hands go up to his cheeks, holding his face so that I can kiss him better.

Roger’s hands are uncontrollable, they’re moving over my bare back and waist in a quick pace as he pants between our slow kisses. I still want to tease the shit out of him, because nothing gives me an ego-boost like seeing him whimper and weaken because of me, under my touch. I kiss his lips slowly, stretching the moments in which our lips are parted, and then delve back in. I slip my tongue between his lips and Roger moans loudly, his grip tightening on my hips. 

I move them against his thighs slowly, barely reaching my clothed core against his about-to-burst hard-on. Roger started to trail kisses down my neck, but my movements distract him and he hangs his head back against the sofa. I can’t lose his attention on me, although I can’t really complain.

“Roger…” I call for him and he looks at me with raised eyebrows, “please give me more.” I ask and bite my lip, feeling something building up in the depths of my core. 

“What do you want, baby?” Roger asks and moves his hands down to my thighs, going up and down. I whimper, craving more of him and his touch. 

“Touch me.” I whisper and my fingers slip past the borders of his pants, slipping inside his boxers. Roger stiffens when I grab onto his length, but lets out an animalistic groan when my hand moves up and down. 

“Fuck, love,” he says and sits up straighter so he’d have a more comfortable reach. Roger moves his right hand down to my underwear and wastes no time, reaching right past the elastic and in between my folds. I fall against Roger’s chest and his assault on my clit brings my hip movements to a stop, “like that? You like it when I touch you like that?” 

I nod and moan against his neck, my lips stopping open in a kiss on his skin. With his other hand, Roger helps me move my hips up and down on his hand in a certain rhythm, bringing me closer and closer to the edge, but it keeps slipping away. My hand keeps slowly pumping him, and Roger returns moans and grunts to me in response. His two fingers are digging into me and he curls them, which makes me release a sound similar to a scream. 

Roger reaches his free hand to my face and moves my face from his neck to above him, making our eyes connect. “Are you gonna cum, baby?” Roger asks in a challenging manner. I nod again, and my orgasm feels so close I can practically reach out and touch it with my fingertips. Roger shakes his head. “You’re not coming unless it’s on my cock.” He says and his words bring me to the edge. If it wasn’t for him pulling out his fingers, I would’ve really come, but now I have to hold it in. 

I pull my hand out of Roger’s jeans to help him rid of them, sitting down next to him. I would have stood up, but my own legs are too wobbly. Roger takes off his boxers and immediately pulls my underwear down, as well. He stands up and lifts me off the sofa before laying me down on the floor. I give him a careful glance, but Roger just winks.

“There’s not so much room there, is it?” He asks and leans down to me, his elbows resting on the carpet at each of my shoulders. His eyes are so hooded it seems he’ll fall asleep any second now, and he only watches my eyes, his finger stroking the side of my face. “I could lay here and look at you like this for the rest of my life…” he admits, his voice sounding like a high pitched whisper. His falsetto is showing. I breathe out a chuckle and then stifle it immediately.

“Are you going to stare at me or fuck me?” I whisper, my thumb going over his sideburn while my fingers thread through his curls. Roger immediately shuffles his legs around and grabs onto my hips roughly, making me whimper and my back lifts off the carpet. 

“Think we both know the answer to that, princess.” He says and I feel him pushing his length inside me slowly until he’s filling me up completely. Roger relaxes against me once he’s all the way in and groans heavenly. I watch his eyelids flutter and his lips part, and I trace my thumb over his lower lip softly. “Fuck, I’ve missed this.” Roger says and his head falls against my chest. My hand drops onto his back and I breathe out deeply, moaning at the very end at how he feels inside me. I’ve missed this, as well, Roger being so good to me in every way he can. Touching every inch of my walls with his cock. 

“Please, move.” I beg him and Roger lifts his head in a second, grinning at me. He pulls out and then moves his hips back against mine, filling me up again and I throw my head back from the horribly ecstatic feeling. My hands tug at Roger’s back and he presses kisses around my clothed breasts while his thrusts in and out of me increase their pace.

Roger puts his hands on the back of each of my thighs and hikes my legs up higher so that he can go even deeper into me, and he succeeds. The moan that leaves my lips is so high-pitched I fear that he may not top it even with his falsetto. My pelvis hurts from the spread, and I realise that our time apart has payed off badly. I’m not as used to him as I was. God, why? Why me?

“Roger,” I call for him softly, my voice laced with uncomfortablity, and he looks at me with furrowed brows. He notices the slightly pained expression on my face and halts his movements.

“What is it, baby? What did I do? Did I h-hurt you?” He asks and I nod barely noticably, there’s even a tear at the corner of my eye. Regrettably. I’ve waited for this for three whole months. Stupid—“We can stop, I’m sorry.” Roger says and pulls out of me, and I whine at the loss of him. I feel so miserable now, so stupid. I wanted this, I didn’t even think my body forgot… things. “Aw, don’t cry, my love.” Roger says, but it does the opposite of stopping some stupid tears falling. I sit up and wipe them off quickly and look at Roger. My hand immediately reaches out to stroke him, and Roger wants to let me, but shakes his head. “It’s alright, love, you don’t have to—“ he interrupts himself with a sigh as I move my thumb over his tip, “go on.” Roger encourages me. He knows what he wants and needs, and also that I’m very stubborn.

I work his hard length and it makes Roger’s forehead fall against my chest, only my name and heavy breaths leaving his lips. He tries to kiss my skin, but his kisses fade every time he starts. What does the trick and makes him come in seconds—he’s already very impatient tonight and won’t last long, I can tell—is me running my tongue over his lips and licking over his own. Roger comes, moaning my name in a high-pitched and high-volumed whines, his body shaking in short spasms, and I feel his cum already shooting out of him. I quickly move to sit in his lap and bend my back over his leg, letting his white ribbons decorate my bare stomach.

Roger almost loses his consciousness at the sight before him—me laying over his leg, his cum all over my stomach and my eyes watching his intently. My breasts are pushed up and my hair is sprawled all around my head. He thinks I’m a work of literal art, I can read that in his barely open eyes. 

“Fuck.” He says in a breathy whisper. Roger’s hair is wild - the closest strands to his face are sticky with sweat, but the rest are going in every other direction. I sigh and chuckle, and Roger looks down at me with a grin, his eyes dreamy. He’s on his knees, leg pulled up from underneath me, and looking menacingly down at me. “Might need to repay the favour, eh?” He asks and leans down to my level. I nod. 

“But not now.” I say before he can do anything. I’m still too sensitive. He raises an eyebrow at me, and then moves to lay next to me on his back. 

“Mind telling me what was the matter?” He asks, turning his head to look at me. His hand sneakily reaches for mine and laces our fingers together. I look down at them, and then quickly at him, but returning my eyes to the ceiling afterwards. 

“It hurt when you spread my legs apart.” I tell him. “I guess my body has forgot what it felt like having you inside me.” I admit and huff. 

“We have time to remind it.” Roger smiles and I chuckle breathily. 

“Didn’t even think something like that could happen.” I say and then shake my head. “I’m sorry, Rog, that your welcome home present failed. I thought everything would be perfect…” Roger shakes his head now.

“It is perfect.” He says. “Believe me, it can happen to anyone, the body just… has a vacation.” Roger explains and I giggle at his choice of words. “Just do more stretches and read it up in your girl magazines. Don’t be sorry.” I keep giggling. “Hey, I mean it. Don’t you laugh!” 

“Sorry, love,” I reply and look at him. He smiles wide at me and I return the gesture.

“Love you so much, Y/N.” He says, holding onto my cheek with his palm. “Don’t you ever think you’re any less than perfect, my girl.”

I smile into his hand and kiss the inside of it softly. I kiss up his hand until the middle of his forearm and then kiss his lips. It’s sincere and full of love and understanding. “I love you, too.” I say. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Roger pulls me even closer to him by my waist. “’M glad to be home.” He admits and I smile wider, getting comfortable with my head against his chest. “Are we gonna stay here forever, then?” Roger asks, breaking the comfortable silence and I laugh.


	18. Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger comes home late and drunk when he promised Reader the opposite.

“Loooove! I’m hooome!” A lazy call echoes through out the apartment and makes Y/N sigh. It reminds her of a call she recieved abour three hours before.

“Well, are you going to be late home tonight?” She asks, her finger involuntarily wrapping around the phone cord. 

“Don’t know, we just have to meet with this one guy for a magazine interview and uh… I’ll be home after.”

“That doesn’t quite answer my question, but okay, Rog. Come home straight after,” Y/N sighs, “please.” She adds, her eyebrows raising.

“I will.” Roger replies. “Love ya.” He says.

“Love you more.”

“Not true, I love you more.”

“Okay, Taylor, you know who wins these things everytime.” Y/N chuckles into the phone. “I’m waiting at home for you.”

“Right. See you, love.” Roger finally says and ends the call.

Y/N puts her book down on her bed while it’s still open and runs her hands over her face. Roger lied to her and now he’s come home drunk. Does she really have the power to deal with that at—she looks over at the clock on her nightstand—half past eleven on a Thursday afternoon?

She hears Roger dropping his shoes on the world and can almost see him falling over. She knows him far too well to know exactly how he comes home drunk. The girl pushes herself out of their bed and walks out of the bedroom, continuing her walk down the hallway. 

She enters the living room. Y/N squints at all the lights her boyfriend has turned on and yawns, putting her hand over her mouth. 

“There you are!” Roger says. His eyes are barely open slits and his supposed lovely smile looks like one that belongs to a heavy marijuana smoker. Y/N is not amused, nor happier at the state of him.

Roger barely makes his way over to where Y/N is standing. He stumbles over his own feet and Y/N has to balance him by his shoulders to avoid him falling on the floor. He thinks of it funny, and laughs at himself while Y/N is looking at him quite seriously.

“Why have you got such a…” Roger trails off, placing a hand on Y/N’s cheek while he steadies himself, “sad face?”

“Perhaps because I am sad.” She replies truthfully. Roger gulps and Y/N knows he knows that he’s screwed up a little. Maybe not a little. “I’m sad and disappointed that Roger Taylor lied to me, saying he’s got work things to do, when in actual reality, he just wanted to get drunk, thinking his girl wouldn’t notice it.”

Y/N lets out an anxious laugh at how absurd that sounds. A look of realisation and regret flashes over Roger’s face. He has to make this better.

“No, I—I didn’t mean to lie, I just—“ He starts rambling.

“What? You just what?” Y/N interrupts him. “Thought I don’t know what you’re like when you’re drunk? Maybe you thought I’m naive enough to believe you? I mean, what is going on inside that head of yours, Taylor?”

Her eyes search his for any answer, but Roger looks down before any answer shows up. “I know you don't—” He’s interrupted by a hiccup. “You don’t like me going out and drinking and, and doing all that, so I didn’t want to—another hiccup—upset you.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “I really want to see your face when you’re sober as I tell you about this.” She says and sits him down on the sofa’s armrest. Roger looks at her with big eyes, almost making her melt, but she denies that feeling. “Yes, I don’t like you getting drunk almost every night after work. And that means you’re going to do it behind my back now?”

Roger’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head dramatically. “No, no, no, no.” He says. “This is the first and last time.” Y/N immediately gives him a look.

“You know this is not the first time, Roger—“ “—I know, I know, it isn’t…” They both talk over each other. They stop and silence falls between them for a while.

“So,” Y/N starts to say, “can you promise me this was the last time you do that?” She asks him, her hands on her hips, awaiting for both the answer she wants to hear and the truthful answer.

“Yes.” Roger says, looking deep into his eyes with his alcohol-clouded ones. A smile falters over Y/N’s face, which makes Roger relieved. “Can I pinky-swear it?” He says almost in a whisper, and his question makes her laugh. “I’m serious.”

“Course you can.” Y/N says and extends her right arm towards him, while he does the same with his right hand. The alcohol has such an impact on him that it looks as if his arm is as heavy as an elephant. 

“I swear…” Roger starts to say, and lets another hiccup free, “that I’ll never lie to my girl, never drink behind her back and never come home late drunk.” He finishes when their pinkies are intertwined and they sway them up and down for good measure. A grin hangs on Y/N’s face at the promise he’s just made to her.

“Now where’s my kiss?”

“You really think those alcohol-reeking lips are getting a kiss from mine?” Y/N asks in disbelief and starts to walk away. “Pshht.” She throws her hand at him, but she’s stopped when Roger’s drunk arms cling to her waist and pull her back to him.

“I do think so.” Roger says quietly in a deeper voice, almost convincing Y/N that he could be sobered up. It’s evident he’s not. “And I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Y/N shrugs, but leans down as Roger leans up and their lips connect. She hums, the feeling of Roger’s lips against hers making her realise what she was missing since the morning, and every day that they spend seperately. Even the stench and horrible taste of alcohol can’t take her love, lust and want for Roger away.

“I love you.” She mumbles against his lips, her hands snaking behind his neck and then tilting his head up by grabbing his hair gently. “But you have to shower.” Y/N says and leaves an astounded Roger sitting on the sofa’s armrest.

“That is so not fair!” He calls after her. He’s really tired and drunk, getting a shower and a good night’s sleep is all he needs. And maybe a glass of water. 

“Don’t you tell me anything about unfairness, Roger!”


	19. Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst.

“So, a drink?”

“Yeah, rather ten.” Roger replies to his old friend Brian before the band leaves for the bar. 

Some time later, the three sit at the bar, at least two - for Roger it’s five - empty pints before each of them. Heads in their hands, eyes boring into something in front of them. 

The news of their beloved lead singer Freddie having AIDS had taken the men by the collar and smashed them into a moving brick wall. Their eyes were empty, John’s were cried out, staring into a void. At the same time, their orbs were clouded by anger, fear, sadness and regret, perhaps. 

They were devastated. An automatic ‘yes’ slipped past their lips at the question “another one?” as they sat at the bar for more than three hours. They all know they have to get ready for the concert that’s in a week’s time, they need to be able to play tomorrow, they have to be in an adequate state of mind and body. But right now, it completely slips their minds. 

Those are the days of our lives,

The bad things in life were so few.

They don’t speak really. When they try, no words come out. John tries to speak, but only whimpers come out and he bends his head down and tears start spilling again. A firm hand from Brian gently pats his back, and the other grabs his coat. He’s leaving.

Roger turns to the leaving Brian with sad and desperate eyes. Brian knows he shouldn’t leave them, but he also knows that all of their families are worried and waiting for them at home. Roger can read that off his face. 

“You should leave, too.” Brian says. “Both of you.” He eyes the shaking John. “See you later, lads.” And Brian’s gone. Roger’s eyes still linger on the doors he walked through, but he averts his gaze upon realising that. 

John’s hunched over figure makes Roger more emotional than he is, and he grabs his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go home, John.” 

The bassist calms down a little and looks up at the drummer. All Roger can offer him is a weak, quick and sad smile. John’s face doesn’t change, but he straightens his back and gets off the stool. So does Roger.

Roger got a cab for John to get him home safely - 'tell Veronica to call me when you get home’ - and then he got a cab for himself. He sat in the backseat, looking out the window and watching the lights, people, cars and buildings passing by. Tears were to spill any second. He couldn’t stop them when he came home and saw his love.  
The days were endless, we were crazy, we were young

The sun was always shinin, we just lived for fun…

June sits on the sofa that you see when you come in through the first corridor of the Taylors’ home. She’s barely in clothes, only a shirt and shorts on her. The summer has gotten hot here. 

When she hears the front door open, her head turns quickly towards the corridor where she soon sees her husband. He’s drunk, she can tell, barely able to walk, grabbing onto the wall. Something must be wrong. He hasn’t been this drunk in a long time. 

Before Roger can fall over and vomit on the floor, June runs to him and holds him by his shoulders. She looks up at him to search his face for any explanation. And he breaks down.

Tears start staining June’s shirt, then her feet, and the carpet. June is saddened by his outburst, watching him suffer is her least favourite thing. She doesn’t know what to do for a few seconds, looking at his eyes fill with tears and then tears rolling down his cheeks. She regains consciousness and takes Roger down to the sofa, but he can’t.

He starts wailing, whining, moaning and crying as loud as she has ever heard. Louder than he is in bed. He’ll wake up the kids…

Roger’s crawling on the floor since he’s slumped down, and crawls towards June, who’s in utter shock. She stands by the sofa, the back of her thighs pressed against the armrest. 

Roger’s wailing continues while his hands are reaching for June, but she doesn’t know how to respond, what to do. She has never seen him like this. 

Finally, Roger has grabbed onto June’s thighs, wrapping his arms around them as tight as he can and continues crying. He cannot stop, and his throat is already sore, it’s hurting and he has a gig in a week. 

June spots their kids at the top of the stairs - “mummy, what’s going on? why is daddy crying?” - and doesn’t know what to do. “Go back to bed. Everything’s fine.” The kids hesitantly disappear back into their rooms and June sighs.

“Roger…” she removes his arms from her thighs, bending down and kissing them, massaging the skin on his hands. June slowly squats down to Roger’s level. 

His face is ruined by his own crying, eyes and cheeks red. His facial features are marked into his skin, every curve and bend from crying now - perhaps forever - etched into it. It breaks June’s heart. What has happened to this wonderful man who’s always happy and spitting jokes? What could possibly happen for him to lose himself like this?

June’s hand reaches out to Roger’s cheek. His eyes drop to the floor and he sobs again, his shoulders shaking with him. 

“What has happened to you? Did someone do something?” She asks and lifts Roger’s chin up. 

His eyes are finally connected with hers and he seems to calm down, but a few tears still fall during the silence between them. June waits for Roger to say anything, but he can’t. He can’t speak. 

After he has cried his eyes out again, curled up in June’s lap on the floor and calmed down a little, his breathing evens out. His fingers are twirling the corner of June’s long shirt as her hand is stroking his head slowly, to calm him down.

“Freddie.” He finally croaks out and then clears his throat. “God, I sound like an old woman.” June wants to chuckle because his own self is back, but keeps silent because she waits for him to explain his sorrows. Her eyebrows furrow. “Freddie’s…”

'C'mon, Roger, you can do this. Just speak, just try…’

“He’s dying.”


	20. I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Christmas (if you're the Grinch).

It’s Christmas morning. June wakes up with a smile on her face even before she opens her eyes. She stretches out her arms and surprisingly findes that her boyfriend’s arms aren’t restricting her of doing so. She turns her head over her shoulder to look at him, and he’s right there - sleeping on his back, chest bare with one arm hanging over the side of the bed, and the other under June herself. She smiles again.

June sits up and sees that she’s in a shirt and only bottoms. It is far too little clothing for this cold weather. It’s quite freezing inside their house, and June sighs as she realises it’s upon her to turn on the heating. She glances at Roger again and he’s still sleeping, chest moving up and down. June then gets up from the bed and walks to her wardrobe to put on warmer clothes. 

Her legs slip into one of Roger’s sweatpants, and she puts on come knitted socks. Her arms are warmed by a dark green sweater and she’s ready to go downstairs. On her way through the living room, she sees their record player and stops for a second.

June had recently bought a classic Christmas song vinyl sang by Frank Sinatra. Now would be the perfect moment to put it on. June takes the record in her hand and takes out the vinyl, and then places it on top of the player and puts the needle on it. The vinyl begins to spin and music comes into the air. June smiles and then walks into the hallway, continuing her journey for a warmer house. 

She turns up the heating by ten degrees celsius and then walks into the kitchen. June puts coffee into two mugs and after putting the water up to boil, she takes a few ingredients out of the cupboard to make Christmas morning pancakes. Roger loves pancakes, especially when they’re not made by him, but by June. 

She remembers the time she taught him how to make pancakes. Roger almost burned the house down. The reason was June, of course, and his carrying away with her. Roger simply cannot restrain his arms - quite literally - when he’s around her. And so he loses track of time and can’t keep one pancake golden brown for the life of him. 

June cracks an egg open, and then another, and drops the insides clean into the empty bowl. Honestly, she’s waiting for Roger to wake up and walk down the stairs, and see the very cosy Christmas morning setting.

After June is done with the pancake dough, she takes a box of matches and walks into the living room. Many candles are in their Christmas tree, and June tries to reach all of them, standing on her tippy toes. She places the match box on a higher shelf and then looks at the tree. It looks so beautiful, all lit up, the only light in the living room. June smiles again and sighs. She must wake up Roger so he’d see this morning beauty. 

June’s feet lift her over the steps excitedly, she can’t contain her excitement for Christmas. Christmas with Roger. This is June’s umpthiest Christmas and she’s spent Christmas with Roger since she’s 17, which makes this their 11th Christmas together. She can’t actually believe that it’s been that long of a time that she and Roger have been together. It’s a little scary.

June’s humming along to “White Christmas” as she walks down the hallway of their house’s second floor. They have as many rooms as they do because both of them are thinking ahead and decided on a future together before buying the house. It’s silly, really, but they know how many children they want already, and so the rooms are in correct count. Now, as June looks inside the slits of the open door, they’re empty and kind of storage rooms. 

June pushes open the door to their bedroom, light pouring onto the floor and bed and eventually the walls. Roger’s still sound asleep, June hears his deep breaths echoing softly through the room. He’s in a different position now, though, he’s laying on his right side, his back facing June and the door. Roger’s hair is sprawled all over his pillow. 

She walks over to their bed and sits down beside Roger, her mouth now open and singing the song still playing downstairs. Roger’s not moving and June puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to her and over on his back. His face is calm for a moment, but then it twists a little. He must be waking up finally.

How long were they up for last night? June doesn’t remember, but it wasn’t very late. And still, it’s only half past eleven in the morning. He’s probably tired and sleep-deprived from recording and touring, being home is the only rest he gets. And now it’s the holidays, so why not let sleep over take him? June feels bad for waking him up, but she does want to spend time with him, not watch him sleep all day long.

Roger’s eyebrows furrow and then he blinks his eyes a few times before opening them. His orbs look around sleepily before they focus on June, who’s singing White Christmas to him, and his features are graced by a barely noticable smile. June smiles widely.

“Just like the ones I used to know…” she sings and caresses Roger’s cheek, making a flock of his blonde hair fall down his cheek and onto the pillow next to his face. “Good morning, sunshine.” June says.

Roger looks at her for a moment, still waking up. “Good morning, love.” He says and reaches for her hand with his, wrapping his fingers around her forearm. June looks at their skins touching and then smiles at him. She loves his morning grumble of a voice. Sounds like soft thunder.

“It’s Christmas morning, Rog.” June says. Roger surprises her by pulling her down to his level, her chest falling on top of his. He kisses her for a long while before pulling away and putting strands of her hair behind her ear, the cliché gesture they both like to do to the other.

“I know.” He says, and then smiles at her wider. “Merry Christmas, June.” Roger wishes her and she smiles. She presses her forehead against his. 

“Merry Christmas, Roger.” She responds. “May your days be merry and bright…” June stands up and pulls Roger’s hand up with her. “You have to get up right now, though. We have things to do.” 

“Yeah?” Roger asks and then sits up, and sighs. “Like what?”

“Well, your band’s coming over in the evening, and until then we have time to ourselves.” June says and waits for Roger to get up on his feet by the doorframe. He’s a little woggly on his feet, but he’s fine. Roger’s wearing thin fabric sleeping pants, with quite a beautiful mandala pattern on it. “C'mon, sleepy head, I’m making pancakes.”

“Pancakes!” Roger almost cheers and June chuckles. Before they leave the bedroom, June pulls him in for a kiss. “This gives me some ideas for what we should do today.” He says, making June chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah.” She says and then they walk down the stairs together. 

Roger sits at the high table while June pours warm water over their coffee. She hands a mug to Roger and he smells it. June laughs at him. “What are you - afraid that I’ll poison you?”

“No, I just wondered if you put cinnamon in there.” He admits. June hums and turns over to the stove. “And you did. You know me so well, love.” 

“Sure I do.” She responds. On a hot pan, she pours oil and then a spoon of pancake dough on it. “Oh, Rog, please look at the Christmas tree in the living room. It’s ever so beautiful.” She says and then hears him get off his hair. 

“Alright.” He mumbles and walks out of the kitchen. June makes a few pancakes while she’s alone, or so she thinks. Roger’s returned from the living room, where he saw the big and bright Christmas tree, and is now watching June make breakfast for them and sing Christmas songs with Frank Sinatra. 

“Let your heart be light, for today all our troubles will be out of sight.” She sings while Roger walks over to her. Unbeknownst to her, Roger starts to wrap his arms around her waist. When she feels them around her frame, she tenses a little, but then relaxes. Only a light shock. 

“Hullo.” June says just as she’s pouring another spoon of dough on the pan. Roger’s head is on her shoulder, and she can tell that he’s still tired and sleepy. His hands are telling her something else, though, when they wonder down to the area of her pants. “Roger, I’m trying to make pancakes.”

Roger sighs and slips away from her. He walks around the table and sits down in his chair again, taking the mug of coffee between his fingers. June glances over her shoulder at him and smirks. Defeated, he is defeated.

“Don’t you get all moody on me, Roger.” She says. “The pancakes are almost finished now, and you’ve got me for the rest of the day, anyway. And tomorrow, the day after that, and the day after that.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright. I’m mad at myself, really.” Roger admits and drinks his coffee. There’s a bit of silence while June is turning off the stove with the last pancake on the pan. 

“Why is that?” June’s eyebrows furrow. She puts the plate full of pancakes on the table in front of Roger, all of them releasing steam up in the air. 

“Don’t want you to think that all I want from you during our time together is sex.” He admits. “And yet that’s what I show. A bit greedy, aren’t I?”

“No, Roger. You’re not so greedy.” June admits and sits down across him with two plates and sets of instruments in her hands. She places them in correct places. “I didn’t even know that I’m so good at it that you want me all the time.” She jokes.

“Sure you are! Don’t you doubt yourself, love. You’re the best I’ve ever had.” Roger says. “Hope I don’t bother you with my hormones too much.”

“No, Roger, I already told you.” June clarifies again. “Let’s not talk about this, but enjoy our time together. It’s Christmas, after all.” 

Roger chuckles and takes a pancake from the plate. “Yeah. Merry those Christmas.” June laughs at his comment, and then leaves over the table to press a kiss against his forehead. 

“Merry Christmas, Roger. I love you.”

“I love you too, June.” Roger responds and smiles sweetly at her. What a lovely Christmas morning with the love of his life.


	21. I Was Born To Love You (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger has cheated on Reader, and frankly can't live himself for it. Will he tell her?

Roger sits on the edge of the hotel bed, head down and shoulders slumped. He’s tired, drunk and hangover, about to smoke his mind out. But he can’t bring himself to even stand up, his eyes fixed on staring at the floor, blown wide and not moving at all. How could he ever do this?

The cause for his greatest regret starts to move around the bed and makes noises that cut like knives into his nerves. Roger can’t help but groan out, and her rolling closer to him makes him stand up immediately. Her hands are empty.

He wants to tell her to get out, shout at her, but mostly himself, but Roger realises that he can’t even remember her name. He just wants her out of here, out of his sight, out of his life, wishing she’d never been in it at all. 

Roger wishes most of all that he’d never met or seen her while he walks to the small fridge in his hotel room. He opens the door only to meet utter disappointment—there are no drinks left in the fridge. Roger sighs and looks around the rest of the room. It’s full of empty beer and whiskey bottles, cigarette butts and plastic cups. Fuck’s sake…

“Morning, Roger.” The naked girl in his bed greets him, and Roger glances at her over his shoulder. She’s got the hotel bedding wrapped around her, and it’s good that she has. His immediate response to seeing her is comparing her every feature to the ones Y/N has. And that makes hie eyes gloss over.

“You can go.” He says to her simply, turning around and pouring himself a glass of water, blinking his tears away. 

“But what if I want to stay?” She asks and Roger shakes his head. He turns around and leans his back against the counter, drinking his water. His eyes fix on her. She’s, of course, good-looking, as all the women in the world are, but she can’t compare to Y/N.

“Please go.” Roger replies and gestures for the door. “The breakfast is still available downstairs, I think, so…” He trails off, not really knowing what to say. “But don’t come back.”

The expression on the girl’s face saddens, but she understands. She would have never expected the one and only Roger Taylor to ask her to stay, and even ask her for more. He’s famous, and has a girlfriend, after all. She can’t help hoping that Y/N Y/L/N won’t find out about them two sleeping together. She’s just for fun, and she doesn’t want to be the reason of a lovely relationship ending. 

She puts on all her clothes and walks out of Roger’s hotel room, smiling at him before she does. He doesn’t respond in any way, but sighs contently after she leaves. 

Roger calls for room service to clean everything up and throw out the trash. While the old lady does her duty, Roger takes a long shower. He wanted to take a bath, but decided against it when thinking that he’ll probably fall asleep there. He has other plans.

Once the cleaning lady has left and Roger’s done rolling himself a joint, he lits the end of it and sits on the floor, his back resting against the bed, and he takes a long, deep drag. He needs marijuana to erase any memory of last night and what he’s done. Roger was in a dilemma between calling Y/N and telling her about it the second he realised he’s been unfaithful and not telling her ever and making himself forget it ever happened.

He can’t, of course, control what the girl of the night will do—will she tell the whole world she’s slept with Roger Taylor or will she keep quiet. He wishes for both. Roger wishes for a lot of things right now, but none of those things are losing Y/N. 

Roger doesn’t even know where she is right now. They came to the party together, but he lost her at one point during the night, but then he thinks she’s probably with Deaky, her close friend. That’s how they met - through John. When Queen had finally formed and it was time for their first gig, Deaky took Y/N to see them. She was so proud and happy at the gig, and watched all of the guys individually. Then John introduced her to the rest of the band, and Roger had fallen in love with her from the first glance. So had she.

Roger chuckles at the memory and looks up at the ceiling. His eyes are completely red from smoking his joint, and he can’t even see properly. He wants to cry so much, but fears that his eyes will start bleeding if he does so. 

How will he ever live with this?

ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ

“Hi, my love!” Y/N cheers once she comes inside Roger’s hotel room. “Sorry, I got up late and then got caught up at breakfast…” She sighs. Her face is free of make-up, laced with lack of sleep and tiredness, but she covers all that up by a bright smile that makes her shine like the actual sun. She searches for Roger in the room, but she can’t quite find him. Then she spots his hand on the edge of the bed.

Y/N furrows her eyebrows and puts her things down, walking around the big bed after doing so. Roger’s passed out in a sitting position, his left arm resting on his bed and his head almost reaching his lap. Y/N kneels down before him and takes both his cheeks in her small hands, lifting his face up. His face doesn’t move a nerve.

“Roger.” She says, trying to wake him up. He still doesn’t react. Y/N grins as she knows what will wake Roger up—he hates when Y/N touches his eyes. She stretches down the skin below his left eye with her thumb, doing the same with the skin above the same eye. She notices his eyes are blood-shot. He’s been smoking, and surely not just cigarettes. 

There’s a groan from Roger and he moves his head away from Y/N’s invading fingers. There’s a glad smile on her face and she sighs queitly. She moves Roger’s face back to her and he squints his eyes, opening them slowly. He’s very confused at first, but his eyes focus on Y/N.

“Good morning, Rog.” She says with a soft smile. The corner of his lips tugs up slightly upon seeing her, but then his face changes as if he’d have a heart attack. He hasn’t forgot what he did last night. “Why have you smoked your mind out?” Y/N asks. Her voice is so caring, and so innocent. She has no idea what he’s done.

“Hi.” Roger finally speaks, his voice imitating the sound of a dog growling. Y/N chuckles and lets him yawn and have his morning stretch, sitting back on her knees. “What time is it?” Roger asks. 

“Almost two, day-time.” Y/N responds, glancing at her watch. “And you, mister, have a plane to catch. I hope you haven’t messed your clothes up too much.” She says and pats Roger’s leg. Roger looks at her, and his are the perfect example of guilty, though she doesn’t see it. Not yet. 

Roger lunges at Y/N, taking her lips between his. His gesture surprises Y/N, and also the horrible smell of his breath, but she gives in. She feels like she hasn’t seen Roger in ages. 

Roger’s hands comb through her washed hair, and he kisses her more. He feels sad, almost like this would be the last time he can kiss her like this, freely. No matter what happens, he knows the truth will come out at some point. So Roger pulls Y/N even closer to him and kisses her like his life depends on it.

She can’t deny the feeling that builds in her stomach from the way Roger’s kissing her. But he’s practically on the verge of passing out, and they have to get to the airport in time, and get all their stuff in their suitcases before that.

Y/N puts her hands on his cheeks and pushes him away slightly. “Missed me that much, have you?” She asks slowly, her eyes searching his. Roger is avoiding her stare, looking at her lips or even lower. “What’s happened, Roger? Why have you smoked so much?”

Roger shrugs. “I just felt like it.” He tries his best. He falls against the bed and Y/N laughs, shaking her head. 

“Felt like being in a coma?” She asks. Roger nods and gives her a grin.

“Sorry, must have had no control over myself.” He tells her, fiddling with this hands and yawning again. Y/N smiles at him sweetly and stands up. 

“’S alright, as long as you don’t die.” She says, walking past the bed. “But get up, we somehow have to be at the airport in an hour. Did you take a shower?”

“Yeah.” Roger says, staring through the window. “That was before I smoked.” He mumbles, but Y/N hears him. 

“Then go again, the water’s free here.” Y/N chuckles, but Roger doesn’t feel like laughing. “Rog. Get up! There’s really not much time. And you’re always taking long showers.” She says and groans at the last part. Roger grins and pushes out a breathy chuckle. He then stands up and walks over to where Y/N is, wrapping his arms around her slowly.

“Shower with me.” He says, almost begging as his hair tickles Y/N’s shoulder and she laughs. 

“I already showered, I feel fresh enough.” She replies and turns around in Roger’s hold, looking at him. Her pointer finger bumps his nose and he keeps looking at her lips. “Go.” Y/N laughs again while talking, and slaps Roger’s butt. He bites his lip at that, but pulls away from his girl. While she’s still his.

Roger nods and walks in a very lazy manner to the bathroom to shower for the second time that day. Y/N gets all his clothes into his suitcase while he’s at it and also organises her own stuff, humming one of Queen’s songs to herself. It’s the end of their tour, and the band and their girls are about to go home. Y/N can’t wait having Roger all to herself again for a long time.


	22. I Was Born To Love You (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader overhears a supposed rumor on the plane back home, and it does make her question the person sleeping in her lap and his last night's plans.

“Here are our seats,” Y/N says, her and Roger’s tickets and passports in her hand, as well as her hand bag and a book. She pats the soft chairs they’re about to sit in and looks at Roger, “where do you want to sit? Window or…?”

Roger is very tired, and it shows in his face and eyes. They switch up to Y/N’s and then down to their seats. She waits for his answer, stressing about the line of people behind them. She looks back at Roger.

“You take the window seat.” He finally decides and Y/N immediately moves towards her seat next to the window. She plops down and huffs, then placing her stuff in behind the elastics of the chair in front, while Roger sits down next to her. The people behind him in line finally move through the plane after waiting for the rockstar to decide.

Roger struggles to put on his seatbelt, and Y/N notices, so she helps him. Roger turns his upper half towards Y/N fully, his side resting against the seat, and watches her adjusting his seatbelt, and then as she adjusts hers.

Her eyes look up at him and she’s a bit confused at first, but it slips away after remembering how tired he is and how much he’d smoked in the morning. Y/N offers him a smile and leans against the back of her seat. “Sleep if you want to, I won’t bother you.” She says to Roger. The corners of his lips lift up in a sort-of smile and he lets out a breathy chuckle. He nods at her and reaches out to her hand. “I’ll have all the time to bother you when we’re home.”

Roger nods again, his eyebrows raised—a little more tired than usual—and lifts his index finger at Y/N. She giggles and throws her head back. Roger enjoys the sight, taking in how she looks. The sun shining through her hair and even past them, on her cheeks and her lips. Her eyes are shut, but not completely, from laughing and smiling and she’s purely beautiful. In this moment, in every past moment and every coming moment.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re happy to announce that the plane will be departing in ten minutes.” The stewardness’ voice rings out through the airplane. “I remind you to put your belongings either under your seat or in the cabinets above your head. Please fasten your seatbelts, and make sure that the small table on the seat in front of you is pushed up, as well as the curtain on your window is pushed up. Thank you for using our services.”

Y/N sighs and looks out the window, feeling how the plane is already moving around the territory. She also feels Roger moving next to her, and soon his head hits her lap. Roger’s hair is sprawled over her legs, and he feels quite comfortable, despite being almost split in two due to the arm rest. Y/N smiles down at him and moves the armrest down between their seats. 

She knows he’s tired, but she also knows it’s quite a dangerous position to be in while the plane is lifting up. Y/N places her hand into his hair and spreads her fingers around, moving them in circles. Her body trembles a little from his appreciative humming and Y/N’s smile widens.

A stewardness walks by all the seats, and stops at where Y/N and Roger are sitting, glancing down at his not-so-recommended position for a second. She raises her hand and opens her mouth as if to say something, but she stops. Y/N guesses it’s either because she recognises him or because she thinks it’s better not to disturb the sleeping man. He’ll be snoring soon, Y/N knows. It doesn’t take him that long to fall asleep if he’s tired out of his mind.

Y/N doesn’t know how much time has passed from the six hour flight since she’s fallen asleep, but looking at her watch on the wrist, she realises it couldn’t have been longer than two and a half hours. Y/N yawns and glances down at Roger. He’s still sleeping, but now he would be looking right up at the ceiling if his eyes would be open. Y/N falters between reaching out and caressing his cheek and letting him be. He’s a sleep beast, so she decides to let her fingers trail along his skin softly, sure that he won’t wake up.

Thank goodness she doesn’t need to use the loo right now. She wouldn’t be able to move, anyways. Y/N’s not hungry either, so reading her book will be fitting activity. She takes her book out of the elastic net and brings it above Roger’s face so he wouldn’t actually wake up. Y/N opens the book in the page she last left off and starts reading.

As she’s reaching quite the highlight of the chapter after half an hour of reading, the conversation in the seats behind her takes her interest more. It’s because Roger’s name is mentioned between the two talkers as they’re whispering between themselves. Y/N doesn’t want to be rude and turn around to look who it is talking, but she hears that they are two women. Probably around her age, or perhaps even younger.

“She told me all about it this same morning, right after she got back from his hotel! All the details.” One of them says. “She went in so deep that I could have sworn I felt like I was there!”

“So, how was he?” The other one asks, with clear interest.

“Well, she said that most of the rumors are true.” The first girl says and they both giggle, then her voice quiets down. “What with the famous Roger Taylor banging the girls like his drums.” The two giggle again and Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, her eyes freezing. “First, she went down on him, and it was so hot that poor Kathie feared she might not survive the main thing. And he was really, really big. The whole package, and more!” The girl speaks the second part of that sentence as if she was reading a fairytale to a child. Y/N doesn’t feel her breath stop, but she certainly wants to hear more. 

The two girls laugh between them for a while, sounding exactly like girls in Y/N’s school. “But wait.” The other one says. “Wasn’t his girlfriend at the party, as well? That same one? And where was she?”

“Well, probably with the bassist, sleeping with him, maybe?” The first one guesses and they both laugh again. Shut up, you goats, Y/N can’t help but think. “But Kathie was worried about it. You know, if she found out about their night together. Can you imagine how outrageus it’d sound in the papers—“Roger Taylor cheats on his girlfriend while both in the same hotel”?” 

“Terrible!” The second one agrees. “But I don’t want to see them split up. They’re such a lovely couple.” She admits. “Kathie’s lucky, though. As is Roger’s girlfriend. I’ve thought many times about how it’d be with him in bed…”

Y/N almost tells them they don’t know who they’re sitting behind. It’s the exact same person who they’re talking about. Y/N feels like she’s about to cry, and there’s anger as well as sadness in her. She doesn’t know if the girl sitting behind her is telling the truth, but she’s quite convinced.

Well, they could have noticed Y/N and Roger sitting in front of them, so they could be pulling a joke on her. Hoping it would result in a public scandal or argument, just because they feel like it.

“But one thing Kathie also said was that he wasn’t very vocal.” The first girl speaks again. “He never said her name, he didn’t even give her a nickname or anything—rude, isn’t it?”

“You’re just naive.” The other one replies. “Perhaps he’s really in love with his girlfriend, so he didn’t really want anything to happen. Maybe he regrets sleeping with Kathie last night.” She tells the first one.

“Yeah, maybe.” She agrees. “But she’s still one lucky girl.” She states, and the other girl hums in agreement. 

He better regret it, Y/N thinks to herself, now completely taken over by anger. She can’t bear to look at the man laying in her lap, completely peaceful and in the land of dreams. The man she’s supposed to be in love with, who she would give up anything for, who is supposed to be in love with her. Y/N’s hands tremble, and she fears that the book will fall in Roger’s face. Good, if it will, perhaps it will serve him well.

If this is all true, what the girls say, if it’s all true… How could he ever—No, not quite the right question. Why did he sleep with someone else? Why? And how did she not notice him disappearing with a girl to their hotel room? Where was Y/N then? Didn’t he think of her? Had he forgot about Y/N? What was going through his mind?

Y/N slaps the book closed, squeezing her ticket between the pages as a bookmark. She pushes it behind the elastic net once again, and takes earplugs out of her hand bag. Tears are streaming down her face, but she puts the plugs into her ears anyway. She can’t bear listening to another word from those girls. Y/N wipes the tears out of her eyes quickly and she inhales and exhales deeply, looking out of the window. Her hands are no more touching Roger, both resting on the armrest to her right.

The anger in her makes her go crazy, and for a while she’s not sure if she’ll ever fall asleep again. But after half an hour or more, the raging thoughts have tired out her mind and her eyes are calm finally. She’ll talk to Roger about it later. Let him sleep for now.


	23. I Was Born To Love You (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger tells Reader of what's been bothering him, knowing the consequences.  
> Warnings: angst.

The band and Y/N land at Heathrow airport in the later hours of a summer day. It’s a bit windy, and Y/N has to wrap a cardigan around her shoulders, although Roger offered his jacket to her. To that, she gave him a strange look and mumbled a word or two about managing on her own. There’s no sun, but it’s brighter than usual, and the ones without sunglasses have to squint a little while they wait for a taxi. 

Y/N taps her foot against the pavement, impatient and indecisive. She bites down onto her lip from the inside and her fingers drum along her upper arm, her arms being crossed over her chest from the slight cold. America was much warmer than London, and it makes her a little grumpy. Although that’s not the only thing getting on her nerves.

Brian and John are chatting between themselves while Freddie’s talking to Mary. Roger’s smoking and Y/N is standing further away from him than she usually does. She’s not particularly against smoking, because she smokes as well from time to time, she only hates the thought of cigarette smoke in her face. Today she hates it more than any other day.

Once the thoughts, doubts and questions get too loud in her mind, she shakes her head and sighs. Y/N has decided to eventually ask Roger about what she heard on the plane. She has to find out if it’s true or not, for the sake of her own sanity.

Y/N walks up to Roger and clears her throat, bringing his attention to her. He takes the cigarette out of his lips’ capture and looks at Y/N with squinted and weary eyes. He was whining moments before about his sunglasses being forgotten in the plane, and so he has to bear with the clouded sun, just as Y/N. “Want my jacket, don’t you?” Roger asks her and Y/N scoffs at his question. She shakes her head.

“No.” Y/N replies. Roger nods, and watches her, awaiting for what she wants to say or ask him. The worst assumptions appear in his mind, and he starts to grow nervous. What if she knows? What if— “I wanted to know where you were at the night of the party.” She says finally, and looks at Roger fearfully and with much carefulness. His breath gets caught up in his throat, and he fights back a cough. That would give it all away… “I mean, I never saw you leave, and then I noticed you were gone.” Y/N pauses, looking down at how her foot draws half circles on the pavement. “But I figured you went out for a smoke. Then I forgot about it—thanks to the alcohol—and after a while, I got sleepy and went with Deaks to his room.” She admits and looks up at Roger. Y/N takes a deep breath. “But where were you? Who were you with?”

Roger gulps and tears unwillingly gather in his eyes. The cigarette almost falls from his hand as he thinks the words she knows. He breathes in slowly, his breath shaking, and he wants to look away from Y/N. But Roger can’t. And they both know that his eyes have already betrayed him in a way. Y/N waits for him to answer. She also wants to tear her eyes from his, but she’s captured by her own search for answers in Roger’s blue orbs.

“I—I, I went to my hotel room…” Roger says quietly. Y/N nods, the hand on her upper arm already digging tighter into it. There will be marks. She waits for Roger to say more, to say anything. How she wants to hear lies from him, pretending to be the biggest truth, but she can’t. Y/N needs to know the truth, even if it tears them both apart. Roger’s still silent, but perhaps Y/N’s already gotten her needed answers from the tears falling past his eyelids.

“And? Were you alone?” She asks, fearing the reply more than anything she has ever feared in her life. Her voice breaks at the last word, and she hates herself for it. Y/N has given away her feelings to the man she’s supposed to love, the man who was, after all, unfaithful to her. 

The pair hold a strong gaze between each other, tears gathering in both their eyes. Roger’s mind is bound to explode from all the internal torture, and how he wants to lie… He wants to lie, but not to her. Roger also doesn’t want her to know the truth, but she’s asked, and there’s no going back. The conversation can’t be ended here anymore, it’s way too late for that. Roger doesn’t want to hurt her. But he already has.

Slowly, Roger shakes his head and looks slightly away. His answer crushes Y/N completely, and she sobs into her hand. So it’s true. The girls weren’t pulling a joke. Oh, how Y/N wishes that this all is a horrible joke or a prank. 

She reaches her hand up to her mouth, covering her lips so people around them couldn’t hear her crying. The last thing she needs right now is a pap or a fan, or any press person seeing her in distress and putting it all over the papers. 

Roger immediately looks back at her, and wants to lunge at her, crush her with his loving arms, not his hurtful words. Hug her so tight she’d forget this conversation. But he doesn’t, he holds himself back, and regains his posture, taking a drag of cigarette. 

It hurts him to see her cry, and know that he’s the reason for it. She will never forgive him. He sees that. Roger knows it. Y/N cries into her hand, and turns her left side to Roger. She doesn’t even want Deaky seeing her cry. He’s got other things to worry about, other than his best friend’s heart break. She knows it’s wrong to think that way, but she can’t help it. 

“How? I don’t understand…” Y/N says softly, taking all the courage in herself to look at Roger once more. She barely sees through her tears that he’s crying as well. She cares, but doesn’t want to show it. Y/N watches Roger for a while as he’s trying to say something, but every option seems wrong and distasteful for the current situation. He’s struggling. 

Suddenly, Y/N unfolds her arms and stretches them out at her sides and inhales deeply, looking up. She sounds as if she’s caught a cold, but it’s only her nose being stuffed from the crying. Y/N wipes her tears and then massages the skin on her face with her small fingers, sighing deeply. She looks over her shoulder out into the airport’s territory and sighs again, quietly and slower this time. 

Y/N walks back a few steps to get her handbag and suitcase, then returns to her place in front of Roger. It takes Brian’s and John’s attention, and they turn to watch Y/N and Roger, wondering where she’s going and if she’s leaving. 

Y/N gazes into Roger’s hurt and regretful eyes with now anger in her own eyes. “We’re over.” She says, wanting to add his name to the sentence, but fears she may break down and cry if she does. “I thought I was the most important person to you, but…” Y/N trails off, “guess I was wrong. Sorry that I bored you with myself. Perhaps, now that you’re single, you can find a girl who’ll fit your standarts perfectly.” She shrugs, though the words she says breaks her own heart, as well as Roger's.

She masks her hurt and heartbreak with mean words, it’s what she thinks is best for her. Y/N gets a stupid tear out of her eye while Roger watches her with his own eyes full of true tears, true hurt and pure regret. He should never have done what he did. Never. How could he even think of it? 

Y/N storms past Roger then, leaving him with his crying and cigarette smoke. John and Brian start to walk after her, and Brian even stops to look at Roger, turning the drummer’s face towards himself to find out what just happened. He sees that Roger’s crying, and gets even more confused. Brian lets go of his mate, and follows Deaky, who cannot for the life of him catch up to Y/N. She’s too fast, and on her way to find another taxi spot or to get on the public airport shuttle. 

“Y/N!” Both Brian and Deaky call after her, but she doesn’t stop walking. She’s on the way to start running, judging by her walking speed. Brian stops running after her, while Deaky still tries to catch up, and he walks back to Roger.

“What the hell’s going on?” He asks the drummer. Roger’s eyes shoot to Brian momentarily, and panic and stress are visible in them. Brian furrows his eyebrows and puts his hands on his hips, panting from the slight running he just had to do. “Roger?” 

He’s still silent. Roger doesn’t speak a word to any of his band-mates even when Freddie comes up to him, or when they’ve gotten into a cab that will take them home. All except Deaky are in the cab, but they took his luggage to bring to Veronica’s. 

The bassist is at the bus stop, hugging Y/N tightly while she cries. Other than that, she’s also quiet, not saying anything or explaining her leaving. She can’t even bring herself to admit what she’s found out, what Roger’s done, or how she feels. All she can do is cry, and it feels like she could spend her whole life crying.


	24. I Was Born To Love You (4)

Over the weeks since Y/N and Roger’s splitting up, they both have been miserable, and seeing each other at studios doesn’t help at all. Roger’s been leaving messages on Y/N’s phone and calling her, but she knows better not to answer the calls. 

Y/N’s been hanging around the studio while the boys record a new album with Mary and other occasional girls that come along with Brian or Deaky. They sit on the sofa all day and sometimes all night and listen to them play and banter between themselves, teasing them occasionally and bringing snacks and coffee. 

“Here you are, guys.” Y/N says, placing a paper bag full of buns and three coffee cups on the studio table. Mary puts the remaining three cups on the table, as well, and walks over to Fred. Brian and Deaky run into the room, and Deaky immediately wraps his arms around Y/N. It makes her yelp and giggle uncontrollably as he hugs her close and his hair tickles her neck. Roger comes into the room slowly, less excited than his bandmates about the buns and coffee. 

Yes, he has to eat, but he’s got no appetite as of late. Also, yes, he’s excited to see his ex-girlfriend, but he’s also destroyed when he sees her. He watches Y/N in John’s arms with pure jealousy-laced eyes. If looks could kill, Deaky’s funeral would be arranged now. Roger almost groans when Y/N laughs at a silly story John tells her, annoyed by him and the fact that he’s making her smile instead of Roger.

Roger takes his coffee and goes back to his drums. Y/N watches him with sad eyes as he leaves, but then the sadness is replaced by anger in a second. She feels tears gathering in her eyes, and the memory of what he did makes her forget that she’s currently in her best friend’s arms, she’s feeling completely isolated from anything physical. Y/N feels John’s hand tightening on her forearm again and she slips back into what’s happening around her.

She reaches her hand out from beneath Deaky’s arm and rushes the gathered tears from her eyes, inhaling deeply after. “Are you alright?” He asks softly into her ear and Y/N looks at him sideways, but then looks away. She nods and reaches out to get her cup of coffee.

She doesn’t know that Roger’s watching them both and really wishing it’s him holding her and making her smile. He even fears the thought of Y/N and Deaky being together, but then shakes his head to get those thoughts out of his head. Roger drinks his coffee and then sits down on his stool, picking up the unfinished song he’s started to write, also taking a pencil into his hand. 

i was born to love you

with every single beat of my heart,

i was born to take care of you every single day

of my life.

It’s a song he’s put together over the past week, and only because he’s thought of Y/N. This song is for her, and because of her, only her. Roger wants to record it, of course, as a song, that’s how public it goes. But if someone asks, he won’t tell who it’s about. Although he’s sure that his bandmates will know or at least have a guess. 

Roger put his thoughts and feelings into this song, and he hopes that Y/N will get the message somehow. Anyhow. She has to find out that Roger speaks to her only through these lyrics, that they’re his words. He’s said similar words to her through the phone messages, and he’d gladly say the same words to her in person, but… She’s unresponsive to his message and his presence, as well. Roger hopes Y/N knows that he still loves her, and that he’d be happy to make her the most happiest girl in the world once again. And forever. 

He writes down the words that have been on his mind since the morning below the old ones, and sighs once they’re down. It needs something very strong, very… exact. Roger looks up at Y/N and sees that she’s not looking at him, talking with Mary instead, and looks back down at the paper. Some words pop into his head. Something she’d truly know was meant for her.

So take a chance with me  
Let me romance with you  
I’m caught in a dream…

Of still being with you. If any tears have glassed his eyes, Roger ignores them and keeps writing down. He always gets what he wants, and he will eventually this time. But Roger’s less sure about getting what he wants now. He’s almost a hundred percent sure that it won’t ever happen again, that Y/N won’t forgive him and won’t want Roger back.

But he’s so wrong. Y/N wants so bad to forgive Roger, take him back, hug him and tell him that he’s forgiven and they’re back together again. She also wants him to do the same. Apologise to her, give her anything she wants, hold her close to his chest and let her cry. Y/N wants to talk things out with him, discuss everything that could happen and what they both want to happen. 

What the former couple wants to happen between them is the same thing, completely no difference. Together again. Roger can try calling out for help through this one song, hoping she’ll hear through the banality of it and think of—maybe—talking to him. 

And my dreams come true  
So hard to believe  
This is happening to me


	25. I Was Born To Love You (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do they get their happy ending?

"Why did I agree to going to this?” Y/N asks Mary. Mary laughs. “I’d forgot how loud their concerts were.”

“Thought you were used to them.” Mary says and takes a sip of her drink. The girls are standing in the venue where Queen are supposed be up on stage in practically seconds. Y/N was talked into it by Freddie, said it’ll be a ‘special’ show of something of that sort. She scoffed at it, but after John joined the convincing party, she agreed to going. The two were weirdly insistent about her going, and it freaked Y/N out a bit. 

“Well, back in the day, of course I was.” Y/N tells her and nods. “I went to a show every night. That’s where we met for the first time, remember?”

Mary nods and smiles happily. “I remember, yeah. You seemed so cool because you were standing backstage.” She says and both girls laugh. 

“I wanted to be out there in the crowd, though… Oh, here they come!” She cheers and turns to the stage once seeing movement on it. The band have come on stage, Brian and Roger first, then Freddie and Deaky come onto the stage as well. Deaky searches for Y/N with his eyes and waves once he sees her, winking. Y/N laughs and waves back. Freddie sees their exchange and blows a kiss at Y/N before giving the same greeting to Mary. She smiles wider and waves at Freddie as well. 

Girls behind her and Mary probably thought the gestures from the bassist and lead singer were meant for them, and Y/N’s and Mary’s ears almost rip off from the loudness of their squeals. They smile at each other from sympathy, and then turn their eyes back to the stage. Freddie gives the audience a big welcome and everyone cheers back to him.

“So, lovies, tonight’s a very special night.” Freddie says into his microphone. “And not just because you’re all here. I won’t tell you the reason if you listen to this one song, though.” He tells the audience with a smirk. They all cheer, including Y/N and Mary, who try to be the loudest among all their fans. “Do we have a deal?” 

The fans scream loudly and throw their arms in the air. Freddie laughs, as does Brian. “I said—do we have a deal?” Mercury repeats. Their fans scream louder, and Y/N holds her ears closed so she wouldn’t lose hearing. “Alright, alright. Rog, we’ll do it together, yeah?” Freddie looks at Roger once he turns around and Roger nods.

It takes Y/N’s breath away. Her hands fold beneath her chin and her eyes spark. What the hell are they up to? What’s going to happen?

Brian and John adjust their instruments on their shoulders and under their arms, and Freddie glances at each of them for confirmation before looking back at Roger. They exchange looks while Roger starts drumming softly and Brian and John start to play their guitars. There’s a tear in Y/N’s eye for some reason, but she keeps watching. 

Freddie steps closer to edge of the stage and finds Y/N again. He points at her while looking back at Roger, and she furrows her eyebrows. Y/N has no time to think when Freddie starts to sing. 

“I… was born to love you,” he sings softly and his voice grows quieter, and Y/N wonders why, “every single day of…”

“My life.” Roger finishes, singing into the microphone. The present tear in Y/N’s eye falls down onto her cheek. His voice blends in with Freddie’s and the lead singer harmonises with the drummer. Roger finally looks at Y/N and she thinks that her heart has already stopped. “I was born… to t-take care of you,” he sings, and it sounds more like a regular words than singing. His stutter is caused by Y/N, and that a light is suddenly shining down on her. She doesn’t notice it because she’s so taken by how Roger’s singing and how his eyes look tonight, even though they’re very far from her own, “every single day of my life.”

Brian cuts in with a riff of his guitar, playing louder, and steps closer to Freddie as he always does. Y/N doesn’t take her eyes off Roger and wipes her fallen tears. The whole audience cheers and girls are trying to take a hold of Y/N, but she doesn’t feel anything, even Mary hugging Y/N close to her. 

“I was born to love you,” Roger continues singing while he also plays his drums and keeps his eyes on Y/N through out the whole time, as well. She’s crying now, fully crying, ugly crying, in front of hundreds of Queen fans, “with every single beat of my heart. I was born to take care of you, Y/N, every single day of my life!” 

When he calls her name, she smiles widely, her crying face enlightened by the sunny smile. Roger can’t fight off the smile on his face. He’s so glad that she smiles. He’s glad that she cries, as bad as it sounds, but at least he’s triggered some sort of emotion and reaction in her. Y/N finally sees him, and she sees that he’s ever so sorry for what happened, what he did. 

“You are the one for me.” Roger sings. “I am the man for you.” He says and chuckles. Y/N breaks into a smile, as well. “You were made for me, you’re my ecstasy…” Roger drums a little harder, and his eyes disconnect from Y/N’s for only a few seconds, but when he reaches for the mic, he looks at her again. “If I was given every opportunity, I’d kill for your love. And you know that.” Roger reassures, and Y/N nods, and wipes the tears again. 

He truly is sorry. She sees that, and takes it into account. He didn’t mean it, and it wasn’t an affair of long-term. It was just a girl, and he was lonely, but of course that’s no excuse. But Y/N sees and understands that he didn’t mean it, and he still loves her. He doesn’t want to break up. He only wants her, and the girl of the night was a mistake, a big, horrible mistake. 

Y/N doesn’t hear what Roger sings next, and she doesn’t hear that he stops singing when she starts running towards the entrance of the backstage door. The guards check her to see if she’s allowed inside, and let her in. Y/N runs through the back room and reaches the stage entrance. 

Roger searches for Y/N in the crowd, wondering where she’d run off. Has she run away from him? Gave up on him? Will she not be back ever again? There’s a light tap on his arm and, anxious, he immediately jolts and turns around on his drum stool. And there she is. Y/N.

He sighs loudly, almost whining, at seeing her and he drops his own drumsticks. They echo against the floor and echo through the whole venue. There’s no other sound in the building, only soft whispering between the audience. Everyone’s watching the reunited pair. 

Roger’s hands reach out to Y/N’s face and she lets him hold her teary cheeks while she’s still sobbing. Y/N blinks a couple of times to get the tears out, but she can't—they keep on coming. She’s also smiling, as is Roger. He’s so happy to touch her again, feel her between his fingers, and have the ability and chance to do it all. 

There’s pure admiration in his eyes, and love, and he’d love to look at her with nothing else. “Baby…” he trails off in a whisper, his thumb caressing the top of her cheek. Y/N holds onto his wrists and shakes her head. She knows what Roger wants to say, that he wants to apologise again, but he doesn’t have to.

“It’ll… It will take time, Rog, but…” She starts to speak, her emotions catching onto her words. She looks down, avoiding Roger’s eyes for a moment, “but I forgive you.”

Roger nods at her words and closes his eyes, letting tears fall from his eyes now. At least she does forgive him, at least she’s giving him another chance. He looks back up at her and smiles softly.

“I still love you.” Y/N says and grips on Roger’s wrists tighter. Roger’s taken by surprise, and he can’t fake it. His mouth opens and closes as he’s trying to find the right words to say back to her. 

Roger brings her face closer to his own and presses his forehead against Y/N’s. He’s panting and tears are streaming down both their faces. The two are also smiling and soon laughing, as well. Roger leans in closer, and carefully moves his lips close to hers. He looks at her for affirmation and Y/N nods, shamefully eager to be that close to him again. Their lips finally touch together and they melt against each other as honey melts into tea. 

The whole audience cheers at their kiss, and Y/N starts to giggle from the attention and silly situation. Brian and John clap for him while Freddie starts to sing the song again. The boys are too much into a celebrating mood to play their guitars, so Freddie’s quite alone. As he sings, their fans clap along to the beat. Y/N and Roger watch each other and exchange many kisses while smiling and crying. 

“I love you, too. So much.” Roger says when they pull apart, holding her small face between his hands. Y/N nods and sobs, but happily now. Tears fall and smiles stretch, and they’re bound to step out from behind Roger’s drums to give the fans what they long for. The perfect pair together again.


	26. Inner Problems (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger has taken a "distraction" with him to the farm.  
> NSFW.

Usually the winters here are cold, and this one is no different. But in the year 1974, winter in the South Wales countryside was sunny. And still cold, regrettably. 

My knitted socks, sleeping shorts, a shirt and colorful cardigan certainly wouldn’t be enough. I long to stay in my warm - partly abandoned - bed, under my blanket and wait for the abandoner to rejoin me, but I know I am to get up and do things today. And my tired system requires caffeine, so I’m bound to get up from my bed in one or five minutes.

I slip a bra on under my shirt so that I’m more comfortable around others - if there will be any - and look at my hair in the mirror. Honestly, a mess it was in a ponytail, which was put up after late night shanenigans, and so I took the hairband out and let my hair down around my shoulders. Is it good enough? Eh, what the hell.

Suddenly there’s shouting coming from downstairs and my head turns to the slightly open door in confusion. Are they having another argument? And in the morning? God damn if Roger is in the middle of it.

I open the door fully and close it again after entering and quickly trudge down the stairs. Maybe it was just a culmination of a conversation, but knowing Roger as a person, I doubt it and my stress starts to grow. My feet slip faster against the wood steps. 

“NOT THE COFFEE MACHINE!” Two voices shout at once, and I recognise their owners. And then I see Brian and John sitting on high chairs—“Morning, Junie”—, Freddie standing by them and Roger with his—

“Roger Meddows-Taylor, what on earth are you doing with a coffee machine in your hand?!” I exclaim. All eyes are on me, including Roger’s, as I finish the stairs in a couple of seconds. “Put it down!”

Freddie exits, but I pay no mind to him because my eyes are only on Roger. His orbs were all around the place, anger clearly showing best in his eyes than all his other body features.

“Roger.” I say, his name barely audible. He slowly puts the machine down and his posture straightens a bit, showing not anger, but his usual slight arrogance.

“We’ll be at the studio if you want to record a good song, Rog.” Brian says before he and John leave, the chairs creaking after them and the door banging against one another. Roger shoots an angry look their way even as they walk out and I glance at him carefully.

“Roger, love.” My hand reaches out to him and the tips of my fingers just graze the skin of his cheek. His gaze finds my hand and it lifts up to my fingers and then he hesitantly reaches my eyes with his. He’s a little shy, I know, after realising I’ve seen another one of his anger bursts. 

I offer him a gentle smile and then glance at the paper Brian’s left on the table and then I look back at Roger. “Why don’t you take a break and we talk about this upstairs,” I say quietly and when he doesn’t answer, I hum, “hm?” Still silence. To get something out of him, I kiss a line slowly up his jaw and without looking at him, I know his eyes are fluttering shut. For only I and my kisses have that effect on the one and only Roger Taylor.

“I’ll make myself a coffee first.” I say and walk past him, patting his butt a few times. “Upstairs, now, Taylor.”

“On it, ma'am.” He says finally and giddily, sliding over the table without a care about the now broken plates of his bandmates’ cold food. I chuckle, taking the coffee machine to make myself a cup. The handle is still warm and a little sweaty from Roger holding it, but it’s alright. 

Roger’s footsteps echo through the house while I pour milk into my cup of coffee. God, I want that liquid dripping down my vocal chords as soon as possible. 

Gripping the cup and Brian’s paper in one hand, I climb back up the stairs and I see the door to our bedroom is wide open. I chuckle once again and take a sip of my coffee before entering.

Quite fittingly, I almost spit it out, seeing the sight that is our bed. Roger Taylor is laying on the bed, completely naked from head to toe, and grinning from ear to ear. But his face changes at my reaction.

As I cough on my coffee, he sits up quickly. “Talking? Strictly, right?” He asks, reaching for his shirt and pants, which have been thrown on the floor. 

“Yes, my love, and as much as I enjoy the sight,” I reply and close the door so nobody could walk in unexpectedly, “you know we have to talk and now is not the moment.”

I sit down on the bed and place my cup on the night stand, my back resting against the headboard and I wait for Roger to finish getting dressed. Although… “Don’t button it up completely.” I speak hurriedly and Rog turns his head to me.

“What?”

“The shirt. Leave the buttons open.” I say, my cheeks tainting a bit pink as I cover my mouth so he wouldn’t see my cheeky grin. Roger grins very openly and stops buttoning his shirt, and turns to me, sliding further up the bed. His eyes are dreamy as they come closer to mine, but his grin remains. 

“As you wish, my,” his hand strokes my cheek, “lovely, lovely girl.” Each ‘lovely’ meant for a soft stroke against my cheek. I lean into his touch. 

“I know your game, mister.” I say, starting softly and finishing with a stern tone. “Now tell me, was the fight about this?” I ask and lift the paper up. Roger’s eyes slowly drift from me to what I’m holding up and he sighs. 

“Don’t read that.” He says quietly, his head down, looking at his hands stroking my leg. 

“Why not?” I look down at him. 

“It’s obviously stupid, you’ll just laugh at me. And I don’t want you to.” He admits. 

“I won’t and… where has your confidence gone?” I let out a laugh and shake my head at Roger. “You know what you and your songs are worth, as well as your ideas, so why is your head down?”

“Eh, it’s not, really.” He says. “The guys hate it and don’t think it’s strong enough to be on the album.”

“Wha-Wait, I’ll read it.” I say and put the paper in front of my eyes. I start to read it, the lyrics barely audibly leaving my mouth. “'Told my girl I’d have to forget her, rather buy me a new carburetor.’ Huh.” I let out a scoff and look at Roger, he looks back at me. I cross my arms over my chest. “So you’re leaving me for a car?”

“Well, I, uh—you see, there’s this—“ I cut off his rambling with my own words.

“I’m only teasing ya. So, do you want my opinion?” I ask him, looking strongly into his beautiful eyes. He nods his head slowly, considering my request at first. “The song is a metaphor—“

“Finally someone who sees it!”

“—and a good one, and as much as teenagers would love it and it will be their hit, I feel it’s a little inappropriate.” 

“Where?” His voice shows a bit of anger.

“Just the idea of being in love with an inanimate object, but it’s just my opinion.” I say and hope his eyes don’t show that horrible anger, before glancing at him for a second. He’s looking down and staying silent, I can’t see his eyes. “I do have one question, though.”

Roger’s head rises immediately and his eyes show excitement and question. “Yes?” He quietly asks.

“In reality, is the song about me?” I wait for his gaze to connect with mine, watching him. He grins for just a split second. 

“What would you say if it was?” Roger whispers. I know he’s about to lean in closer and now the thought of settling his anger problem slipped away. Well, we have quite the lifetime ahead of us.

“Firstly, I’d say that you writing and dedicating a song to me is just…” I hold his gaze with mine as dear as my life, “heart-warming, unbelievable, lovely and emotional!” He’s as close to me as never before. Roger’s arm is stretching over my stomach, his hand lightly touching my side. 

“Secondly, I’d think it’s silly to compare me to a car.” I bump his nose with my finger and he hums, a flicker of a smile appearing for a short while. I exhale slowly. “And finally, I’d tell you how enticing that is and tell you to fuck me so good you want to write another song.” I whisper to him so quietly I thought he didn’t hear it, but I find immediately that I’m wrong.

Roger attacks my neck fiercely and quickly, as if he had seconds to paint it with his lust and love. I can’t help the many proofs of my ecstasty slipping out as his assault continues and he moves to be above me. The paper slips out of my fingers when my hands reach up to tug at his beautiful hair that has suffered the wrath of me one too many times.

“Oh, Roger,” I sigh as his hands start slipping all over me, and he’s kissing me so lustfully I think I’ll pass out. I can’t breathe, he’s not giving me air - or am I just declining access to it? I disconnect from him and suck in a deep breath to keep me going.

He smiles widely, knowing his effect on me is starting to show. I give him a grin in return and then reach down to his chest. My fingers slip past the edges of his shirt and slide against the smooth skin of his stomach. He’s almost lost his balance and role when my hand slips further down to his pants. Then Roger’s reminded of what his duties are in bed.

“God, I love you.” He mumbles, kissing me again and taking off my cardigan, followed by my shirt quickly after. They’re tossed on the ground next to the bed, but they’re forgotten as soon as they land. “You didn’t have a bra when we went to sleep last night.”

I laugh at his naiveness, but I know its source - me and me only on his mind. It’s clouding his common sense. 

Roger kisses my chest and leaves a mark right between my breasts before moving downwards. I feel his lips all over my belly and right above my sleeping shorts. Not so soon after, I’m left with no shorts, watching him slowly stretch the waistband wider so he can - torturingly slowly - slip them down my legs. I feel the slight breeze of the colder air hit my skin. I hadn’t realised the air between us was that heated, now the air around me seems almost ice cold. 

“Angel, you’re glistening right through your underwear.” (a/n: that just clouded my common sense and entire being) He said so lowly and I moaned out at his words. “I love your socks.” I chuckle then, breathlessly, but that soon fades.

Seconds after, I feel his lips leaving a line of light kisses along my inner right thigh. I’m writhing around, trying to release the tension of how crazy he’s driving me with just kisses. “Roger..” his name barely leaves my lips, taking all my willpower to do so. 

“Yeah?” He’s just reached my belly again and looks up at me with those eyes. Those undeniable, lustful eyes. He’s waiting for me to plead, to beg, but I am unable as his hand is sliding over the neediest spot in me, clothed by my pink underwear. The most gutteral moan rips out of my throat when his thumb presses against me.

“Oh, God!” I exclaim, his thumb beginning to rub circles. Roger chuckles.

“No, darling, it’s me.” He says and leans up so he can capture my lips in a sweet kiss that I’m barely able to register due to his actions on my lower half. I reach for his hair and kiss him back, trying to give back all the pleasure he’s giving me. “You’re such a naughty girl.” Roger mumbles against my lips, and I shudder. His fingers are already pushing my underwear aside, and the feeling makes my head fall back against the pillow.

“I need you, Rog,” I croak out. He places his hand under my jaw and tilts my head so that I meet his gaze. 

“Need me where, June?” Roger teases.

“You know…” I say and my eyes flutter shut as his assault on my clit continues. I hear him laugh - he’s quite amused at me being unable to speak - and I groan, “God, you know where, just please… Get in me.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

;)


	27. Another Tantrum (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst, anger issues.

A record was playing in the background of the empty house while June arranged some work things. She was alone, and had been for a while, knowing that Roger was at Freddie’s place with John and Brian. They had a band meeting.

Things hadn’t been going the best way lately. Freddie - as June saw it - was mixing himself with the wrong person and crowd, and so his relationship with the band had gone sour. Roger was coming home from recording sessions frustrated or drunk - if he’d had enough time after the sesh to go into a pub.

June was always patiently waiting at home, trying to figure out how to help Roger with his anger management. They had tried a few things, but they weren’t as effective as needed. 

Just as June was reading a chapter called “Factors of anger issues” in a book about psychological disturbances, she heard a crash downstairs. Her ears pricked up and her head shot up like an ostrich’s when it hears something. There was silence, and then another crash with added yelling.

June quickly threw on her jumper and hurried downstairs to see if anyone had broken into her house. But as a few crashes and yells followed, she recognised the voice - if she could call it so - as her own husband’s.

She watched in horror as he was trashing their kitchen - throwing dishes, forks, spoons, mugs and bowls everywhere he could, places his eyes didn’t manage to catch before the certain ceramic met its fate. Each dish ‘died’ with a sharp scream of anger. The look in Roger’s eyes was crazy, frantic, even psychotic as he was overwhelmed with anger. 

June screamed when a plate crashed just above her head. She had reacted quickly and bent down. 

The crashes and yelling stopped and she slowly looked into the kitchen, fearful of what could come next. Roger spotted her, June’s face completely warped by fear and desperation, fear of her own lover. She made for the stairs quickly, afraid he would do something to her.

It wasn’t fear out of something that could’ve happened earlier, because Roger had never harmed her during his tantrums or done anything else to hurt her ever. But he was unpredictable, and she wasn’t about to be in the middle of all that.

June knew he would follow her, and she heard his footsteps following hers up the stairs. She was out of breath when she slammed the door to her art studio in Roger’s face. Her studio was located in the attic of the house, a place where she and Roger spent a lot of time together - either she was painting him or they were making love - but Roger wasn’t allowed in there without her.

June could hear his heavy breathing over her own through the door. She also heard the record still playing downstairs. “June.” Roger spoke and jiggled the door handle. She held the door locked tightly. “Open the door, please.”

Oh, how I’d love you over and over, over and over

Over again…

June calms her breathing and tries to stop her panick attack. It was only Roger, only Roger, Roger who just completely ruined our—

“Please, I’m sorry, June.” Roger pleads. She can hear the regret in his voice and closes her eyes to calm her thoughts and fear.

June turns around and slowly unlocks the door, and also slowly opens it. Out of instinct - she’s still afraid of him. She eyes him carefully, the door open only as wide as her face. Roger’s chest is heaving up and down and his face is red. 

His eyes aren’t angry anymore, they’re frantically running around, searching June’s face, but they’re not crazy anymore. 

“I—I’m…” he starts to say, but before he can, June bursts into tears. 

Roger can’t take looking at her like that. He pushes the door open and hugs her so tight her bones almost crush together. She sobs into his chest, her hands tied together against his chest. 

“I am so sorry, baby,” he says and kisses June’s hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

June cries even harder at his words because of all her emotions. She knows he can’t help it most times, she knows he needs her help. But she also knows she loves him too much to change. What’s a few anger tantrums once in a while? All her thoughts and emotions are too overwhelming and too controversial.

“I’m sorry for scaring you like that.” Roger says and tilts June’s chin up so he can see his eyes. “I don’t want that to happen again. I didn’t want to scare you, I didn’t mean to do all that…”

“I know.” June says and sighs, putting her arms around his torso and pulling him against her. “I know, Roger, and I don’t… I don’t want that to happen again, either.”

“Hm.” Roger hums, his chin resting on top of June’s head. The vibration of the short hum warms June’s heart. She closes her eyes and just listens to Roger’s heartbeat. 

“I love you…” she says quietly, the words sounding more like a sigh of relief. The way she says it, her voice, and the situation all make Roger emotional, but he gulps down his tears and hugs his girl tighter, closer to him. 

“I love you, too, June. I don’t ever want my own problems to be a problem in our relationship - our marriage - because I couldn’t live without you if it ever got too hard for you.” Roger mumbles out and kisses June’s hair again. “For us.”

June tilts her head up to look Roger in his glossy eyes. She smiles, and the smile is so warm it makes Roger melt and she kisses him. She’s kissing him like it’s the last time they could, but it’s not. They only want to stay like this forever.

“Will you marry me?” Roger asks. Happy tears are rolling down June’s cheek as they kiss and try to pull each other closer. She tries not to cry, but to no avail - she breaks away from him in a laughing fit.

“I already did.” She finally says and looks at Roger who smiles in adoration at her. “I already did, Roger.”

“Yes.” He says. “And I can’t believe you really did.”


	28. Insomnia (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger deals with a severe case of insomnia due to stress his band is causing him.  
> Warnings: NSFW, insomnia.

Come on, darling,” Roger whispers calmly, despite being buried deep into his wife and watching her from below. His words heavily contrasted the other sounds coming from him and his wife. “You’re doing so good…”

June is gasping for air, her hands hitting against Roger’s chest. Out of kink and pure lust, Roger takes her wrists and moves them up his own hair. He almost screams when June tugged at his roots. 

“Oh, Roger, I’m… I’m close…” she announces to her love and can barely breathe. 

“Go on, darling,” Roger poorly replies and takes her wrist to kiss it, “let go.” He exhales and June finishes with a high pitched moan. She can do no more than collapse against Roger and try to calm her breathing. Until the man himself orgasms, he keeps pushing in and out of her.

“Are you done now, Rog?” June whispers after Roger shouts a few profanities and lets out a string of moans. He pulls out and June takes that as a yes, with a sigh.

“I’m going to take a shower.” She said. Roger chuckles.

“Really? After what I’ve done to you?” He asks with a cheeky grin. June shoots him a guilty look and pushes herself off the bed, only to fall to the ground in the next second with a yelp. “Oi, darling!” Roger exclaims.

He’s quick to pull her back into the bed by her forearms. She shoots him a tired look, her eyelids barely keeping themselves up. Roger sees only a third of her green eyes. 

“You’re very tired, love.” He says with a soft understanding smile. June giggles. Roger sees that she needs rest, whereas his body is far from tired in this moment.

“I know.” She admits. 

“And you’re not going anywhere.” He says. Roger lays June down, and the sight of her reminds him of how this night started. His eyes turn into hearts as he watches her laying there, beneath him, too tired to speak or move. 

Roger doesn’t want to leave, but he needs to because June’s breasts are a big distraction to him. So he leaves her on the bed to fetch her a shirt. Contrary to your popular belief, he takes one of her loose flower blouses from her wardrobe and hurries back to June. 

“Arms up.” Roger says. June lifts her arms up tiredly, almost hitting Roger in the cheeks. He turns away and chuckles at his love. “Good job, June.” He salutes her and pushes the blouse over her head.

This is the most fun Roger has during his days lately. Just being with June, trying to take care of her while also having a lovely time when he gets back from the studio. The evenings are his favourite time of the day because he’s finally out of the most stressful place he could be. Freddie was getting on his nerves, he had fired their manager and was always late to recordings - Roger was pissed all the time, came home cranky and easily irritable. Only when he was in bed with June or playing his drums and getting carried away with palying was he calm and humble.

She hums in appreciation and moves over to sleep on her side. Roger sits on the edge of the bed next to her, keeping his eyes on her face. She looks so beautiful to him. Quickly falling asleep, tired and freshly made-love-to. Her hair was still a little messed up and she would probably complain about it in the morning until she would forget her laziness and wash it. 

Roger loved hearing her complain about things she didn’t like about herself, they amused him. June was the most perfect woman in the world and doubting herself was just silly to Roger. She would ramble on about her hair, her nails, her thighs, etc, and Roger would be laying in bed and listening to her - partly if he was smoking a cigarette or if June was in a particular sexy morning outfit.

He reaches out to June’s cheek and strokes it with his pointer finger softly, not wanting to disturb her slumber. But he can’t help his hand being heavy and June’s eyebrows furrow as she barely opens her eyes. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” She asks and closes her eyes, getting her head more comfortable on the pillow. The corner of Roger’s lips curls up into an adoring smile and he sighs quietly.

“I’ll join you in a second. Go to sleep.” He doesn’t want to lie, but he also doesn’t want to tell her the truth. Roger hasn’t been able to sleep these past few weeks, and this night is no different. He spends his nights either laying next to June, writing something downstairs, trying to fall asleep or simply staring out the window, waiting for the exhaustion to dawn on his system.

Roger probably knows why it’s like that, but he hates it. The rage of not getting sleep is only contributing to his insomnia. He’s going in circles. 

He doesn’t smoke in the bedroom anymore, hoping the lack of smoke in the room will help him fall asleep. Roger also tries to quit drinking in the evenings, only during the day, so his body and system can be clean before going to sleep. He’s trying anything and everything to get rid of the stress from Freddie and the insomnia. 

Roger gets up from the bed, puts on his boxers and a shirt and leaves the bedroom. He slowly closes the door and then presses his back against the wall, a sigh leaving his lips. What do I do now?

He stands in the hallway for quite some time, not registering how much time passed, thinking of what he could do to either exhaust himself or be productive. Something that also wouldn’t wake up June.

The idea of June’s studio shoots into Roger’s mind and he considers it. He knows he’s not allowed in there without her, but she’s asleep. But what would he do there? Look through her works? That would be like a… eh, what else could he do now? He has many song ideas in his head, maybe he could write songs in June’s studio. Why? He has never been there alone, and has never done anything in there alone.

Roger takes a pen and his song book from the living room and walks up to the attic. He avoids the creaky wooden steps and boards so June would keep on sleeping.

Roger spends hours in June’s studio, looking through her artworks and sketches, and also writing out his frustrations in his song book. June’s works contains so many portraits of Roger, he is her muse and the main model every day. He also finds compositions of the band at the studio, the other wives lounging on the sofa, people at bars and at gigs. 

There are a few sketches and paintings of the band in the dressing room before shows, Freddie’s outfits, Roger’s angry face when someone has pissed him off or made a joke about his Car Song - Roger snickered at that. The most intruiging works of June’s was of Roger sleeping and he realised they were made in the most intriqite times. On the tour bus, between interviews, at home, after a party, even asleep in a taxi. 

June doesn’t draw herself, not at all, but there is one watercolor sketch/painting of her looking at herself in her make-up mirror. It’s a very beautiful one, and probably Roger’s favourite work of hers. He notes in mind to frame it someday before her birthday or Christmas.

When he walks down to the kitchen and sees the clock striking half past three in the morning, a yawn breaks out of his mouth. Roger gets excited and chuckles to himself - he’s finally getting sleepy! 

He leaves the pen and book on the kitchen counter along with a glass of water, and hurries back to the bedroom. Roger quickly but carefully gets under the blanket and puts his arm over June’s figure, ready to sleep beside the love of his life finally.


	29. Exhaustion (4)

He can’t sleep. His eyes are wide open and not a milligram of sleep in them, neither of his eyelids dropping. Roger tries not to groan out, but he shows his anger in turning on his other side, his arm leaving June’s peaceful form.

He closes his eyes, but they don’t stay closed, immediately popping back open. He forces them shut and turns over to lay on his back. His eyes are burning with the desire to open, it feels like there’s sand between his eyelids. Roger tries to ignore the feeling and push it away, but to no avail.

Roger wants to thrash around the bed, punch holes into the wall, rip the sheets to pieces and scream out of frustration. But he can’t. Roger’s eyes are wide open again and his orbs are moving around like crazy, the only movement he’s making in his anger. He tries to calm down his eyes, but they won’t stop. 

After tossing from one side to the other, counting 1374 sheeps and singing many songs in his head, Roger feels exhaustion and stress take over his body. He wants to cry out because he can’t fall asleep. 

He groans as quietly as he can, trying not to wake up June beside him, and rubs his eyes with the bottom of his palms. He’s tired, he’s tired of the insomnia, the stress, the inability to do anything else besides trying to fall asleep.

Roger doesn’t have energy to do anything, despite being quite athletic and muscly. When there’s no sleep, he can’t function properly. He could go running during the sleepless hours, but his legs won’t move because they’re weak and feel like jelly.

He turns to his right side, closes his eyes and pulls the blanket over his head, trying anything to fall asleep. The exhaustion is over taking his body like a huge ocean wave, but something’s not letting it reach his eyes and mind. He even thinks there’s a tear rolling down his cheek. But perhaps it’s just a fabrication of the insomnia.

The man is finally sleeping. Due to the exhausting feeling, his sleep is deep and heavy. But his dream isn’t pleasant. 

He’s on stage, but everyone is saying shit about him, throwing food on the stage. Freddie’s counting down facts about him that Roger wouldn’t want anyone to know - good and bad ones. 

June’s in the crowd and is taken aback by what everyone’s saying, and she looks at Roger to search for approval. He doesn’t respond, but just gets up from his drum set and makes his way after June. Through the crowd of people, past the guards, but he still can’t reach her. Every time Roger stretches out his arm, someone swats it away or June slips more away.

He looks back at the stage and everyone’s laughing at him. Freddie is pointing at him and laughing, holding his own stomach in pain. Brian puts his guitar on the amplifier and makes his way over to Roger’s drum kit. With the help of Freddie, he starts to rip it apart. 

He hits the big ones with his foot, pushes over the plates and then he takes his drumsticks up in the air. Roger is running to the stage while people are trying to push him down, saying mean things about him and his marriage, his drumming skills and his voice, his looks.

Brian takes one of the drumsticks and breaks it apart. That completely crosses the line. Roger can’t help but gasp and then roar like an animal. 

He gets onto the stage and pushes Brian back, but his arms are weak. All he does is poke him despite all the power and energy he puts into the pushes. To Brian and everyone else it’s only a poke. It feeds Roger’s frustration.

Roger gets so angry he starts screaming and before he can punch Brian, which he wouldn’t think of doing, Freddie smacks him in the head with one of the drum plates.

A gutteral scream rips out of the depths of Roger’s throat when he wakes up. He doesn’t know what time it is, how long he’s slept or if he has slept at all. His eyes are frantic and his breathing is rapid.

June jolts awake beside him, too. She looks at her partner, confused and scared. Is he hurt? Did he see someone? Has he had a bad dream?

“Roger…” she whispers to him and Roger, having been affected by his nightmare, gets relieved when he hears her voice and sees her beside him. 

He immediately hugs her close to him, holding onto her like she’s his lifeline. “Roger, what on earth happened?” She asks and pushes him away slightly.

His breathing calms down once he looks into her concerned and loving eyes. “I was… they were… I ran… you were miles away…” He mumbles nonsense, not being able to place everything correctly.

“Did you have a bad dream?” June asks. Roger nods his head. June pulls his face close to her and kisses his lips. “I was miles away?” He nods again. June kisses his cheek and lays the both of them down. “I’m here, Roger.” She assures him, placing her palm on his cheek. “I’m here and you won’t get rid of me.”

He nods and maintains eye contact with the most precious person in his life. Her green eyes calm him like nothing else can. She searches his eyes for anything else and notices the blue rings under them. 

“What time is it?” Roger asks before June voices her question. She gets a little confused and then looks over at the clock on the nightstand. 

“Almost six in the morning.” She tells Roger and scoots closer to him. 

“Christ!” Roger groans. “How can I know how much time did I sleep for?!” He’s angry and frustrated. June’s eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?” She asks. Did he not go to sleep when he told her he would?

“I can’t fall asleep. I can’t sleep at all lately.” Roger admits to his wife. He looks in her eyes so he can focus on what’s important. 

“Lately? As in how long?”

“Weeks, months, I don’t know… I’ve lost track of time.” He says and huffs. 

“Roger…” June says, saddened, her hand on his jaw, her thumb stroking his jawbone, “and you’re telling me this now?”

“Sorry, yeah. I didn’t want to trouble you.” Roger admits and leans into her touch. “I even know why I can’t sleep - it’s because of Freddie. Fucking Freddie…”

“Didn’t want to trouble me?” June is a little shocked. “I could help you, get you some sleeping pills or something, I don’t know!”

“I know, love, I’m sorry, but I’m just… eh.” Roger closes his eyes and shakes his head. “That’s why I’ve been grumpy and pissed when I come home. Freddie’s always late to recordings and meetings, doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on, acts like the fucking queen of the world! Ironic.”

June stays silent, letting Roger let out his stress and worries. 

“And he always has Prenter with him! He follows him everywhere and they even look like each other! Plus, Fred fired Reid!” Roger moves to sit against the headboard. June puts her hand on his chest and looks in his eyes, even if he’s watching the wall in front of him. “I bet it was under Prenter’s influence. He’s a straight up snake.

“And when he’s at the studio, he’s either smashed, high or smoked his brain out. What would our fans say if they saw how he was acting? Think of the numbers we’d lose… who’s even going to listen to some stupid disco music? They’re gonna think Queen wants to squeeze into current trends! That’s not who we are.” Roger says and sighs.

“God, Rog…” June sighs and curls into his side. “Don’t keep all this shit in.”

“Princess! Since when are you cussing?”

“Is that the only thing you heard?”

“…No.” Roger shakes his head, but June rolls her eyes because she knows he’s lying. “But if you’d like to remind me-”

“I said you can’t keep all of your stresses in. You have to let it out somehow. Your drums don’t help you in that way anymore?” She looks up at him.

“Well, they do. And you do.” Roger looks down at her and makes June blush, despite being in a relationship for more than ten years - and married. 

“You flirt.” She says and slaps his chest.

“No, it’s true.” (a/n: i can hear it in his voice, can you too?) Roger insists. “When I’m with you, it’s my favourite time of the day. And when I get carried away with playing, I’m calmer, too. But then I see Fred completely shit-faced and I get… angry again.”

“Hmm.” June hums and makes circles on Roger’s stomach with her hand. “Maybe I should come with you to the studio?”

“No, absolutely not. I don’t want you to be there, not during this time. It’s a horrible scene there.” Roger says and June hears that his tone is serious.

“Yes, but if I can help you maintain a polite attitude and keep you playing, why shouldn’t I be there?” She asks. “I want you to keep making music, and I want you happy, Roger. Let me make you happy again.”

Roger sighs and contemplates what June said. After a few minutes of silence, only their breathing audible, he sighs again. “Okay, then. You’re coming with me more often.”

“And we’ll get you some sleeping pills if I can’t help you sleep.” June says, patting his chest. She looks up at Roger and sees him lost in her eyes. 

“I adore you, June Taylor.” He says and slides down the bed so he can kiss her. She smiles wide against his lips and kisses him back. 

“I love you, too, Roger Taylor.” She whispers and then pulls back to look into his eyes, which makes her smile. June runs a hand through his hair and thinks of something to cheer Roger up. “Do you know what day it will be today?”

“Um… Thursday?” He guesses, making a pretend-thinking face at her, although he genuinely doesn’t know what day will follow. Thanks to his insomnia and stress, he’s lost track of days and time in general.

“No.” June shakes her head and chuckles. “It’s Saturday.” She smiles sweetly at her husband and laughs when excitement appears on Roger’s face. “Do you know what that means?”

“That I don’t have work!” His arms go up in the air. “You don’t have work.” He points his right hand at June and she nods. 

“What else?”

“Hmm… pancakes for breakfast?” 

“Maybe yes, but there’s something else.”

“Well, I don’t have anything left.”

June gasps with fake shock. “How could you forget…” she trails off, looking into Roger’s eyes and tracing her fingers up his chest, “that you have me all to yourself?”

“Oh, right.” Roger whispers in realisation. “Terribly sorry for that, darling, you see, my lack of sleep is responsible for that.” He says and raises himself above her, which makes June smile.

“That’s something we can work on right now.” She says and slithers away under him. 

“Where are you going?” Roger asks, looking at her walking into the bathroom, turning on the light and searching for something in the mirror cabinet.

“I think I have exactly two sleeping pills left from when we were in the States.” June explains and Roger sees her face light up when she finds a particular bottle, the one she was looking for. “I had terrible jet-lag and needed sleep badly. And here they are!” 

She pours water into a paper cup, turns off the light in the bathroom and walks back to the bed with the pills and water. June hands one pill to Roger and keeps the other one for herself. She then puts it into her mouth and takes a sip of water afterwards, Roger watching her actions. Their eyes don’t disconnect from each other.

“That looks kind of sexy.” He admits with a smug grin. June almost spits out her water, but hands the paper cup to Roger. 

“You’ll forget all about sexy in a few minutes.” She says and slips under their blanket, watching as Roger takes his pill and then puts the empty cup on the nightstand. 

He lays down next to June and she turns her back to him. He puts his arm around her side like he was supposed to before, and closes his eyes. 

“Goodnight, Roger.” June says after a few seconds, but no response comes and she knows the pill has worked. She smiles to herself and waits for its effect to take over her, too.


	30. Studio Day (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Paul Prenter, angst, arguments, cussing.

Before shutting the door, Roger had stressed for the 100th time today about June coming with him to the studio. To be honest, she’s a little irritated by it, but she knows where he is coming from. Roger tends to keep June out of the sticky business his band has now and then.

“Roger, I’ll be fine as long as you shut up and stop worrying!” June says, watching Roger walk around his car to her. He sighs.

“I know, I know, I’m just…” he begins to say, but trails off. “You know what I’m like, especially now. The stress is getting to me, Juney.”

“That’s okay, we’re working through it.” June says, placing her palm on Roger’s cheek. She smiles at him sweetly and kisses the same cheek. “Now let’s go before you flee out of fear.”

Roger smiles at his wife and her words, watching her walk towards the entrance of the studio. A few fans are sitting on the ground next to the fence a few meters from where Roger stands. He offers them a smile and a rock sign with his fingers and walks after June into the frontyard of the building. The fans giggle and wave back at him, calling his name or asking for his autograph. He hears a camera clicking.

“Sorry, guys, don’t have much time today.” Roger shouts to them right before closing the front door. June is inside already, taking off her jacket. 

“It sure is stuffy in here.” She says and Roger scoffs.

“With me here? Always.” He replies with a flirty grin, June gives him a funny look. Similar to the one John gives him day to day. “It’ll get hotter when the arguments start.”

“Let’s try to keep away from those.” June pats Roger’s shoulder. Roger holds her close for a second, kissing her head and then they walk deeper into the studio, hands linked together.

With their eyes, they’re both searching for other band members and they find each of them, except for Freddie. Brian’s wife is there, too, and June greets her with a hug.

“Hi, June.” Says Brian from Chrissie’s left. June smiles at him. “Quite a pause since we last saw you.”

“Brian. Yes, I’ve been busy, and as I hear from my husband, you have been busy, too.” 

“Working their arses off.” Chrissie states and they all laugh. 

“Hi, John!” June waves at the bassist when she spots him with his guitar in the recording room. John spots her, too, and waves back with the signature lazy smile on his face. 

“Hello, hello, lads and… wives! Good day, June.” Says the band’s record producer when he walks into the small room. June gives him a polite smile and then makes way for him to sit down at the sound system. “Crowded here, is it? Would be better if you’d move to the other room and… start tuning your instruments?”

“Oh, right!” Says Roger and drags June out of the room, followed by Brian and Chrissie. “Though we are one missing, I suppose we could tune up.” He admits with a heavy sigh and grumbles of agreement come from Brian and John. Roger sits June down on the sofa and points a finger at her. “Now you stay here. And don’t move.”

“What are you gonna do, Rog, paint her?” Brian asks, walking over to his guitar while Chrissie sits next to June.

“Not exactly, no.” Roger replies and walks up to his beloved drums. “She’s gonna paint or draw us. Aren’t you, dear?” He asks just as he’s reaching down for a wire behind his drums.

“We’ll see, we’ll see.” June chuckles. “Roger thought this would be the best place for me to watch you from, the—what was it?—“perfect composition”?

“Yeah, yeah.” Roger admits and chuckles lowly to himself while others snicker at him. “Make fun of me all you want.”

“We’re not!” John says.

“We’re admiring your vocabulary in art.” Brian defends the others, and they all laugh again. 

“Were you talking about art or were you talking about me?” A deep voice interrupts the laughter and June looks over to the door. None other than Freddie Mercury has arrived at the studio with a beer in hand and Paul Prenter by his side. “Oh, June. Always lovely to see your face here. Another evidence on Roger having one girl.”

June flashes him a quick smile and turns to her bag to get her paper and pencils out. She doesn’t react to his comments about Roger cheating anymore, because she knows he doesn’t mean them, he’s just drunk and June’s got nothing to worry about. 

Brian, John and Roger all nod at him as a greeting. Well, from Roger, it’s barely a nod, just an angry look. June can see how easily Roger gets agitated when he sees Freddie. He can hardly restrain himself from lounging at Freddie because of the comment he made. Roger decides against violence because he can control himself, and he needs to resist his anger, especially in front of others.

“You’re late.” He says. “And is that the second or the 100th time you are?”

“I think the number has reached, perhaps, two hundred.” Adds Brian. John has a sad look on his face as he looks at his lap. June knows he hates arguments, he just wants to make music with his friends.

“I’m here now. So what is it? Are we carrying on with “The Dust” today?” Freddie pushes his sunglasses further up his nose. Paul lights his cigarette and he takes a long drag. 

“Yes, we need some improvement on your vocals in the chorus and I need to play the melody.” Brian says and scratches his head. “I suggest we just record the whole song a couple of times and see which version we like best.”

“I like the first one we recorded.” John speaks up.

“I do, too.” Roger says and finally sits down on his drum stool. 

“Sure you do.” Freddie replies. “But it’s the first version, the rawest of them all. We’ll need to add something more to it.”

“To make it sound more disco, right?” Roger mocks him. Freddie shoots him a look and for a second or two, they have an anger-stare contest. 

“If I’ll want to, we’ll make it the most disco song of the 1980s.” He says sternly.

“Can we please get through today without any arguments?” Brian asks, making a praying gesture with his hands and sighing. “I like the first version, too, but let’s just try out different things.”

Everyone nods, but Roger is still watching Freddie. “I’d like everyone who’s not Queen take a seat in the room with me and let’s start recording.” Their producer speaks up. 

“Can Juney stay here? She’ll be quiet.” Roger shouts.

“You heard me - everyone who’s not Queen, please move to this room.” He repeats. Roger growls and rolls his eyes at the producer. 

“The only good thing about today and it’s taken away from me.” Roger mumbles. June takes her bag and walks up to his drums. She leans over all the parts and plates and kisses Roger.

“I’ll still be able to see you, Rog, don’t you worry.” She whispers. “Only three meters further away, it’s not that long.”

“But I want you here.” Roger pouts at her and June laughs. 

“Don’t get scared, little boy.” She teases him as she’s walking to the other room. Roger’s lips curl into a loving smile and he chuckles. 

“Okay, guys, you ready?” The producer asks. June sits down next to Chrissie again, and much to her dismay, Prenter sits down on her other side. She tries to sigh without a sound. She can smell the cigarettes and alcohol on him, and it’s not a pleasant mix. Roger has it, sometimes, too, but it’s different when it’s your husband.

June watches Roger as he’s drumming and starts sketching him in her notebook. She starts with his shoulders, then creates his head and the easiest part to draw is his hair. It’s just a mess of blond locks, but her favourite thing to mess up even more. She often wonders how it’s a miracle that he was born with such gorgeous hair.

“Is that Taylor you’re drawing there?” Paul Prenter asks her with a devilish smirk playing on his features. 

“It is.” June replies without any further information. She doesn’t want to talk to him, because she simply doesn’t like Prenter.

“Quite the one, isn’t he?” Paul asks. June knows that something’s under his sleeve. “How do you keep him in place? I mean, it must be hard, with the reputation he’s got in relationships.” 

June sighs, but doesn’t reply. Now she really understands how Roger feels every day, because Prenter’s making her angry. A greedy little snake is what Prenter is. June can’t deal with people like him.

“Roger told us you have many drawings of him.” Chrissie says, feeling June’s irritation and wanting to keep everything calm between them three. 

“He did?” June’s eyebrows raise in confusion, as she knows that Roger knows he’s not allowed in her studio. She erases his eyes in her sketch, because they were too small. 

“Oh, was he not supposed to?” Chrissie falters.

“No, no, it’s fine.” June chuckles, making Chrissie relieved. “I just don’t allow him to enter my studio without me. But you know, can I control him anymore? Boys will be boys.”

“Yeah, I guess you can’t. No man can be tamed without taking our clothes off.”

“You’re right there, love.” June agrees and the women both laugh. “Is Brian like that, too?”

“Well, I suppose he is a little more peaceful than Roger, from what I see in the studio, but sometimes it is hard to get him in a frame.” Chrissie admits.

“I know exactly what you mean.” June says. “Sometimes I think Roger’s charged with electricity because of the energy he’s got. He wants to do everything at once, and he can’t be stopped.”

Chrissie laughs. “Maybe he’s hyperactive, have you thought of that?”

“Nah, it couldn’t be. He’s just himself.” June admits and they both laugh again.

After an hour or three of recording, June has three drawings of Roger, four of Chrissie and many more of the band playing in the studio. Every band drawing includes the curly hair of the producer, like a lovely accent on it, making it more lovely and familiar, perhaps even domestic.

“Paul, I don’t mean to be impolite, but you’ve been everything but polite today.” June is finally on her breaking point, driven by Prenter. The band are listening to the recordings on big headphones while June and Chrissie are waiting for them to finish and Paul’s making the waiting even longer and unbearable. “Would you mind sodding off? I don’t want you to ruin my relationship with my husband—which, mind you, you could never have the power to do—just because you’re not content with yourself!”

Roger listens to Brian’s today-recorded guitar solo and then hears the anxious voice of his wife through the thick headphones. He slides them down to hang around his own neck and turns around to see her saying something to Paul.

Paul laughs in a dark manner at her, a horrible grin plastered over his face. Before he can answer to June’s words, Roger walks the two steps over to them and eyes Prenter viciously.

“Why is she mad at you?” He asks, his hands glued to his hips, elbows back. Paul struggles to answer, falling over words and Roger repeats his question, but in a deeper voice and slower. “Why is she mad at you, Prenter?”

“Perhaps it’s not me she should be mad at.” Paul replies lowly, looking up at Roger through his forehead. 

“And what does that mean?” Roger’s eyes narrow down. June suddenly stands up, realising what could be the result of the current situation. She puts her drawing things into her bag and slides her arm around Roger’s elbow.

“Roger, let’s go.” She nudges him, begging with her eyes and looking at him, but Roger’s eyes stay on Prenter. “Don’t mind him.”

“No, I wanna hear what he has to say! Obviously, you wouldn’t be so fussed if nothing had happened, right?!” Roger almost freaks out. “Tell me why she’s mad at you!”

“Roger, perhaps this is not the time.” Freddie interrupts from behind them. 

“Oh, surely, when your little pet’s in trouble, you suddenly need all of us focused on the recordings, not him! And at the same time, he has annoyed my wife for whatever reason, and that’s meaningless to you, right?” Roger whips around to face the lead singer, disconnecting from June suddenly. Chrissie reaches out her hand to hold June’s.

“Are you sure she’s your wife? Or just a waste of time and money?” Paul chirps sarcastically, and his words make June hurt inside. She won’t admit it outside, but she is hurt by those words. She knows that they’re not true, but how could he ever say something like that to Roger? Her grip on Chrissie’s hand loosens and she lets go completely, her hands entangling together in stress.

“What did you say?” Roger yells and when Paul laughs again, he doesn’t hesitate to pin the tosser to the wall by his neck. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

Paul’s struggling for air. Brian pushes the wives further back into the room and moves to get Roger off Paul. He and John both hold raging Roger back as Freddie approaches Paul. Chrissie catches the headphones falling to the ground.

“Yeah, right! Go and calm him down, won’t you? Protect him and stand for him when he just insulted me and the love of my life!” Roger shouts animalistically at Freddie. His words make June’s heart flutter - even though he was just strangling a man, he was fighting for the right thing. Violence is never the right option, but Roger can’t control himself.

Freddie only gives him a look in response, and huffs quietly. June sees him breathing calmly, while Roger, on the other hand, is a raging horse, his chest heaving up and down, breaking out of his half-buttoned shirt.

June walks over to her husband and begins freeing him from the grip of his bandmates. “June, don't—” Brian starts to say, but June looks at him sternly.

“There’s nothing to worry about as long as we’re not here, or with those two.” She tells Brian while swatting his hands off Roger. “Otherwise—never thought I’d say this, but—I’d join Roger in a fight.”

“You?” Freddie laughs, lighting a cigarette. “Fighting? Surely we can find a stronger person in the homes for old people.”

June pays no mind to him and takes Roger’s hand in hers. Before leaving the studio, she bids goodbye to the Mays, John and the producer. Mercury and Prenter make her heart beat so fast in anger her ears will tear apart from the loudness.

Roger’s quite astounded by June’s behavior, but can’t fathom it completely, since he’s calming down from his anger fit. The walk to the car is silent, and the first words spoken are in the car.

“I can’t believe that.” June says quietly, staring out the window. Roger was about to start the car, but stops. He wants to listen to his wife. “I can’t believe them, and I can’t…” she enhales and exhales, “I can’t believe it’s what you have to deal with every day that you spend at the studio.”

Roger sighs out, leaning against the door of his side. June turns her head to him. Their eyes connect and a look of knowing is strong between them. “It is quite out-of-this-world.” Roger admits. “Sorry if I scared you, I just—GOD!—I can’t deal with that stupid snake!”

“Is he like this all the time?” June asks. Roger moves his head from side to side, shrugging.

“He and Freddie like to make comments about me cheating, make fun of me. Let them do it, for all I care, but I hate it when they involve you.” He almost growls. “You’re my wife, I mean, how could they question me or you or our relationship?!” He’s still astounded. “What did he say to you?”

June sighs. “Just stupid questions about the same thing.” She admits. “I couldn’t even draw properly, the tosspot took all my attention. There won’t be any good drawings from today.”

“Don’t say that, all of them are beautiful.” Roger says and finally starts the car. “Don’t let Prenter or Fred get to your head. Prenter’s plain greedy and Fred…”

“Yeah, I know.” June says. “The only reason they’re making fun of you and make you feel bad is that they themselves don’t feel good in some or many aspects of their life.” She sighs and her hand slithers over Roger’s on the speed crank. He looks at her, their faces closer than before. “I hope they don’t get into your head, Roger.” June says quietly and hopefully. “I know you and I also know your past. I trust you, too. And don’t you ever forget that, don’t doubt yourself.” 

“I try.” Roger says and lifts their intertwined hands up to his lips and kisses June’s knuckles. He then leans over and kisses June’s lips. “You’re the most important thing in my life.” He admits in a whsiper, pulling back just a little so he can look at June. “I won’t do anything to hurt you or make you leave me.”

June smiles at him, the smile so big Roger thinks it reaches her ears. He smiles, too. “Let’s go home.”


	31. Apology (6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: angst to fluff.

Many tears spilled and nights spent thinking how unfair anything can be, June and Roger had somehow accepted the fact that their dear Freddie would pass away soon. They both were much more quiet at home, most times, and when they weren't—it was because of the kids or Roger playing the drums in his music room. He was practicing for Live Aid, perhaps the most incredible music performance there could be. It’s due in a week, and Roger’s quite stressed. June can feel it, and so she lets him be most of the time, if he doesn’t pay attention to her first thing in the morning.

It breaks her to see him like this. Sulking, not talking, only playing the drums or making food for all of them. He’s broken, and so is June. She can’t believe that Freddie’s got an unfair sickness that’s affecting his voice. It’s just too bad. Seems like there would be no better days ahead of them.

One day June walked in on Roger and their son William playing drums together and almost burst into tears that exact second. It was a pleasant surprise, and she couldn’t stop smiling while making dinner.

Currently, June’s sitting at home all alone—Roger’s out with Brian and Deaky, the kids are at school, so she’s got the house to herself. June sits on their living room sofa, knitting a sweater for Roger and watching the telly. It’s the middle of summer, but since she’s bored and has got time on her hands, she decided to make him a Christmas present earlier than usual. She’s already planned gifts for the kids, as well, so they’re on their way after Roger’s sweater.

What surprises her is a knock at the door. June furrows her eyebrows and looks at the telly, considering it maybe a noise from the program, since she’d zoned out a little. It wasn’t, and the knock repeats, only twice as long. She throws down the unfinished sweater and stands up from the sofa. Her bare legs move against their soft carpeted floor as she walks towards the entrance door through the corridor. 

June wants a double surprise, so she doesn’t look into the door eye to see who it is. She instead locks the door open and swings it wide. June gasps. No other than Freddie Mercury is standing on her porch, he’s wearing a leather jacket, light blue pants and a striped shirt. His signature moustache is probably freshly shaved, his hair pushed back with gel, but his face is a little… Strange. A mix between sadness and sickness. 

Memories of him at the studio, with and without Paul, flood her mind, including that horrible day when she and Roger had to leave the studio to end the day without a fight. June also immediately remembers about Freddie being sick. Everything she knows about Freddie, and everything she remembers about him, comes back to her.

“F-Freddie.” She says and gulps down any tears that have threatened to come up and join the party. Freddie looks deeply into her eyes, capturing her soft orbs with his confident gaze. But he still looks a little sad.

“June.” He says finally. She can hear that his voice sounds different. Perhaps he’s now caught a cold? Freddie shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants just as Rose leans against her doorframe. “I know… I know that I’m the last person you’d expect to see.” June listens to him, waiting to explain what he’s doing here. “But… I thought I’d visit you.”

June offers Freddie a smile and notices a slump of relief in his posture as Freddie sighs quietly. “Sure, come in.” She says and steps to the side to let him walk in. Freddie—a little hesitantly—steps into the Taylors’ home and his lip twitches in a sort of smile at June. Her smile stays. “Would you like tea?” She asks after closing the door and locking it once, just to be safe. Freddie walks through the hallway, looking at all the drawings, photos and paintings hung upon it, glancing into them curiously. June’s question takes his attention back to her.

“Y-Yeah, alright.” He stutters a little, and nods. June gives a nod in response and hurries into the kitchen. While she prepares water and cups for their tea, Freddie speaks to her from the hallway. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here, at least not consciously.” He admits and June chuckles. “These are so beautiful.” He points out, and June thinks “he probably means everything that’s on the walls.” She’s not wrong.

“Well, you were invited on several occasions.” She says to him from the kitchen, after a short while. She’s busy making them tea. “You just never showed up.” June admits, bringing the kettle and two cups, as well as the sugar bowl, into the living room, all placed upon a small plastic tray. Freddie reaches out to help her settle the tray on the coffee table. She gives him a nervous glance, but lets him help.

“I’m sorry about that.” Freddie responds. They both sit down on the sofa and June sighs. “I’ve missed countless birthdays and pregnancies—are the misfits upstairs?”

June shakes her head. “They’re at school. William’s second year and Lilly’s first.” She responds, and looks at Freddie properly. He’s shaken by anxiety, she can tell by the way he’s sitting and looking at his hands, as well as around the room, from time to time. 

“I’m sorry about being an arsehole.” Freddie says, now looking into June’s eyes strongly. His mere sincerity and visible regret brings a tear into June’s eye. “I’ve been horrible to you, and the lads. I regret ever picking on you, and I must apologise on Paul’s part, as well, since…”

“I saw the absurd interview he gave on the telly.” June says, and they both nod. June sighs quietly after she and Freddie exchange knowing looks. “I guess that’s partly the reason why you’re here.” She says and Freddie raises his eyebrows slightly, nodding.

“Mary made me see all that was wrong.” He responds. “And that made me regret a lot of things.” 

June nods, and after a while of reminiscing and thinking—while Freddie watches her—she speaks. “I accept your apology, Fred.” She says and looks at him. “I knew and I saw that… you were not in your right mind, not in your own mind at all, actually. I’m glad you’re out of that state now.”

Freddie nods and reaches out to hold June’s hand, and she lets him, her soft skin touching Freddie’s rougher fingers. Freddie caresses the top of her hand and sighs out. 

“Freddie, I know you’re sick.” June says and her voice cracks. Freddie raises his head at her and furrows his eyebrows. “Roger told me, if you’re wondering.”

“Is that why you’re accepting my apology?” He asks, starting to draw his hand from June’s, but she holds on tighter, not about to let him slip away.

“No, Freddie.” She says, offense very visible on her features. “No. I…” June trails off, but realises that Freddie will probably stay with the wrong message in his mind, and draws away from him, turning her side to Freddie, her knees up to her chest. “Never you mind.” She says and sighs, running a hand through her hair. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—“

“No, Freddie, I didn’t mean it.” June responds. “I explained why I accept your apology, and if you still think that pity is the reason why, then…” She sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Freddie says. “Not your fault, I just got a little angry.” He says and offers June an apologetic smile. She looks at him for a moment, but then breaks down her facade and smiles, as well. Freddie notices her eyes look glossy and reaches back to her right hand, and holds it between his own hands. “How are you?”

“Fine, Freddie, just fine.” She says. “Sad, of course, and angry, but William and Lilly help keep me happy. As well as Roger.” She admits and glances at Freddie. “How are you, Freddie? Oh, and, I haven’t told anyone about you being sick.” She buts in before Freddie can answer, and he nods.

“Alright, darling.” He says and chuckles. “Well, I’m good, better. If it’s possible, I’m enjoying every day even more than before.” Freddie admits and June smiles. “I appreciate more of every day. And the people around me.” He pats June’s hand and she smiles. “That’s why I came here. You’re one of the brightest stars I know.” Freddie winks at her, and June scoffs with the same smile on her face.

“Well, Freddie, you’re the brightest star I know.” She responds and Freddie gives her a smile as a ‘thank you’, even though her statement adds a little ounce to his inner arrogance. “I think the tea’s gone cold.” She admits.

“I can warm the kettle.” Freddie offers. June shakes her head, and starts to stand up, but Freddie stops her, getting up with her. “Really, I’ll do it.” June sits back down and nods. 

“Sure. It’s in the kitchen.”

“That far I can think, darling.” Freddie says, walking towards the entrance of the kitchen. June chuckles at her own naivety and watches Freddie walking away. Her smile fades a little and tears threaten to flood her eyes and cheeks. Before they can, though, June takes a deep breath and stands up eventually from the sofa.

“We’ve got cake!” She announces to Freddie and runs after him through her own house.


	32. Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? (1)

You know that Roger is horrible with break-ups, or even little breaks in relationships. You learned that when you were supporting him after a break-up with his previous girlfriend. He would do nothing but drink, get high and sleep. He wasn’t taking care of himself at all. 

But your relationship truly needed a break. You were barely seeing each other, and when you were, it was before shows - which meant you only had twenty or so minutes - , home for breakfast or at some fancy event. 

Your work schedule was too rough, and so was Roger’s. It broke your heart that the moments you shared together were also shortened because the band always requested him being with them. You always watched him walk away with sad eyes.

Your heart and body was aching for him, and you knew you could have him, but you thought it probably best to let him go for a while. It was better for both of you. Or so it seemed.

It is another late night which you spend reviewing work papers. The clock on the wall shows half past one in the morning and you sigh. You rub your eyes and blink a couple of times before returning to reading the paper about legalities. Disrupting your silent atmosphere, the phone rings.

You’re startled at first and jump in your chair. ‘Who could it be?’ you think to yourself, not realising you’re letting the phone ring. You should probably pick it up. 

You pull yourself out of the chair and walk over to where the phone is, on the night stand next to your bed. “Hello?” You ask when you pick it up.

You can hear the noises of society in the background before a drunk voice almost rips open your ears. “Love!” He drags out the word, and you sigh upon realising who is calling. Again. “Hiiii…” He sighs in relief into the phone.

“Roger.” You close your eyes in regret that you ever picked up the phone. 

“Hi, love.” He greets you again and you can hear him gulp down a liquid afterwards. An alcoholic one, of course.

“Yeah, you already said that.” You state and yawn. “What do you want, Roger? it’s very late.”

“I just, I just wanted to talk to you.” Roger admits. 

“You are talking to me. So say what you have to.” You sit down on the bed, waiting for him to say something worth your while. There’s silence. “Right. I’m going to bed.” You’re about ready to hang up, but Roger’s voice stops you.

“No, don’t go. I… I miss you.” He says, almost in a whiney tone. You sigh, knowing that’s the truth. “I miss you very much.”

“Well, sounds like you’re having quite the fun without me.” You point out. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

“No, no, that’s not all. I’m lonely here.” Rogers says and hiccups. “I want to see you.”

You know he does. And you want to see him, too. “I can’t have a conversation with you while you’re drunk, Roger. You’re talking nonsense.” She exhales into the telephone.

“No, I’m not!” He insists. There’s anger showing in his voice. “I do miss you and I do want to see you. When do you have a free day? I could take you to lunch or…”

You sigh again, tears threatening to spill. A shakey breath can be heard on the other side. “Then try calling me when you’re sober. Maybe…” you can’t speak the rest of the words, because it hurts too much. “Call me when you’re home, clean and sober.


	33. Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? (2)

When Roger wakes up, his first instinct is to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. But a lipstick writing on his left hand stops that detail of his mornings and he squints his eyes to see what’s written on his hand. 

“Clean, sober, home. Call Y/N.”

He’s confused at first and tries to remember how these words came to be. He was drinking a lot, he was in a bar, and girls were all around him. But he wanted to drown in his misery alone, well, minus the alcohol. He called Y/N and they had spoke before she ended the call.

Roger sighs with relief when he remembers what the words on his hand mean. Y/N had told him to call her when he’s home, clean and sober, and it was so important that he wrote it on his hand. Roger knows it’s important to him, because Y/N is the most important thing in his life. And for her, he’d do anything.

Roger sits up in bed and immediately gets hit by a merciless headache. He groans and his head collapses in his hands. He has to stop drinking at one point or another. Perhaps he could start today.

Roger had a warm and soothing shower that made his thoughts wash away just like the dirt his body had collected. He washed his hair, as well as himself, and then spent an hour or two cooking breakfast for himself, letting his hair dry naturally.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed his hair, and best - he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a shower. He was truly in a dark hole, but the thought of talking and being with Y/N again motivates him to take care of himself. He knows he needs to take care of himself either way, but when Y/N’s the motivation, it’s a lot better.

Roger puts on some dark blue bell pants and a white embroidered shirt. The shirt fits him well, and there’s a deep cut that reveals the top of his chest. 

He doesn’t remember if he has any plans with his band today, if he has to record or is there any interview they need to attend. Roger doesn’t even have a notebook or calendar to mark any important events in following days. All he could think about is the girl who he’s almost not allowed to see.

He sits on his bed and anxiously takes the telephone in his hand. His fingers turn Y/N’s phone number on and he waits for her to answer. For a few moments, he only hears the waiting signal, and Roger almost wants to give up and put the phone down, but then he hears Y/N’s sweet voice and every sense of his hightens.

“Hello?”

He doesn’t even know what to say, he’s very happy to hear her voice and realise that she’s picked up her phone. “Y/N.” He says. “Hi.”

“Roger!” She almost gasps, but controls herself. “You called.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did.” Roger says before a silence falls between them. “And I’m sober, I took a shower and I had breakfast.”

“Really? I’m proud of you, Rog.” She admits. Y/N’s face is decorated by a small smile. “So why have you called me?”

“I, uhm…” Roger trails off and scratches his chin. He’s a little confused by her question, thinking she knows why he is calling, “I want to see you.”

Y/N stays silent, but nods. She knows, she knows. “Okay.”

Roger’s heart almost stops. Does that mean she’ll agree to meeting him?! “Er—uh—uhm… are you—when are you free? Are you free today?”

“I am.” Y/N answers him. Actually, she took this exact day free of work because she wants to give Roger all of the time she can. She doesn’t know at what time he’s free and she doesn’t have the type of work where she can play the game of fortune with her time. 

“Great! Uhm, then—let’s meet at the East corner of Hyde Park, the one where you always waited for the bus home.” Roger suggests the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks about a place with the memory of Y/N. 

“Yeah, alright.” Y/N agrees and lets out a chuckle. “At what time?”

“As soon as you can. I’ve got the whole day free.” Roger doesn’t know if he’s telling her the truth, but he trusts his poor memory and thinks he’s right. 

“Alright then. I’ll be there in half an hour.” She states. “What should I wear?” She’s teasing him and she knows it, she’s doing it on full purpose. But only because she’s in quite a good modd and wants to hear Roger’s voice as much as she can before meeting him.

“I don’t know. Find your best dress and matching shoes or whatever. Nothing more.” Roger replies and his mind slips to images of Y/N’s different dresses that he’s ever seen her wear. Not even underwear? Y/N thinks to herself.

“Okay.” Y/N almost whispers, her voice so quiet. “I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“Yeah, okay. See you there, love.” Roger speaks up, the nickname slipping out involuntarily. He hears Y/N whisper a soft and quiet ‘goodbye’ into the phone before she hangs up and he sighs loudly when she does.

Roger smiles to himself and yells out a loud “YEAH!!” as he puts the telephone down. He’s got himself a date with the only girl on his mind.


	34. Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? (3)

Roger stands on the East corner of Hyde Park, his foot nervously moving up and down and his fingers tapping against his own thigh. He was probably much earlier than the time he and Y/N had arranged the meeting, but he was very much anxious about actually meeting her. He got here as soon as he could.

Roger watches taxis, yellow cars and buses driving by, waiting for Y/N to get out of each of them, but to no avail. Then, as he watches a girl similar to Y/N get out of a taxi - not really sure it’s her, a feminine voice startles him from behind.

“Hey,” she says softly, and he can hear she’s been running. Her hands are in her bag, putting her money back into it, eyes fixated on her hands, “sorry I’m late. There was a small traffic jam.” Y/N smiles innocently up at Roger and he almost faints.

She’s just as beautiful as he remembers last seeing her, months ago. The last occasion they were together, she wasn’t in a fit state, but she looked more beautiful than ever. Y/N’s wearing her best dress - yellow with different flowers scattered all over it, ending just above her knees. 

“Hello.” Roger says and moves his sunglasses up into his wild hair. Y/N smiles at him again, visibly nervous about meeting him as well. 

“Hi, Roger.” She replies. There’s a silence fallen between them while they look at each other, and then Y/N clears her throat, bringing Roger out of the small trance. “So, are we going anywhere?”

“Yes, yes, we are.” Roger coughs anxiously. “Uh, anywhere you want!” He waves his hands around. “Fancy a bite? Or, or, or, a uh… coffee?”

Y/N can tell he’s nervous and she’s slightly relieved that she’s not alone in this. “Yeah, uhm… coffee’s too hot for today, though. Maybe a milkshake?”

“You’re quite right there,” Roger replies and chuckles, ‘love’ almost slipping past his lips out of instinct, “alright then. Let’s head to Oxford Street. I think there is a—“

“—a sort-of-american diner, if I remember correctly.” Y/N finishes his sentence, knowing him and herself too well. It was a place they went during rainy days, mostly, or when they were craving something of a slightly different culture.

“Yeah.” Roger nods and smiles, turning slightly so they can walk side by side in the direction Y/N came from. Her eyes are on her feet, a smile playing on her lips as she recalls the times of eating out in the restaurant with Roger. He’s watching her, sun shining on her face and legs, through her pink sunglasses that do no good in guarding her eyes from the sun. She’s ever so beautiful.

Roger thinks his favourite looks of her are when she’s in the sun, or at home, sleeping. Maybe making breakfast? He can’t really choose. In all truthfulness, she’s beautiful always and everywhere. 

“Here we are.” Y/N brings him out of his thoughts, waving her hand slightly to show that they’ve reached the place. Looking through the window, some people are inside, but not too many. Roger hopes that no paps or fans show up while they’re there. Not today, it’s too important. Y/N’s too important. “Roger?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbles and holds open the door for Y/N who eyes him suspiciously while walking in. A quiet 'thank you’ escapes her lips and then Roger’s standing next to her at the entrance inside. The place is bigger than it looks from the inside, and there’s even—as far as Roger can see—space for them in the small garden. “Let’s sit outside, in the sun.” He suggests. “If you don’t mind.” He quickly adds. 

“No, it’s alright. Let’s go.” Y/N agrees and they walk through the diner. The workers and one or two of the people there eye Roger and Y/N, recognising them. They’re here almost every day and seeing the rockstar with his girl isn’t a shock anymore. What’s the shock this time is that the pair haven’t been here together for more than half a year, and they’ve returned. 

There’s a table for two right in the middle of the terrace with the sun shining straight down. A perfect place for proposing, he thinks. Roger - being the ever-so-kind gentleman - pulls a chair back for Y/N, in which she gladly takes a seat on and then sits down himself.

A waitress soon comes and gives them the menus, and walks away. Both their eyes skim over the foods and drinks, and Y/N remembers different occasions about some of the orders they’ve made here. The cheese burger with fries and coke were ordered when Roger had a tragic hangover. Two cheesecakes and chocolate milkshakes were taken when it was late at night and the two of them wanted something sweet. Delightful memories.

“I’ll have the vanilla milkshake and some ice cream with the same flavour.” Y/N says to the waitress once she’s returned. Her chin is rested upon her curled up fist, her elbow on the table. She’s looking upwards, and with the sunglasses, her beautiful hair and dress, Y/N looks like a dream to Roger. He sighs happily.

Y/N eyes him once it’s his turn to order, but she doesn’t look at him very visibly. He’s still thinking, humming as he does so, and then he makes up his mind. “I’ll have the same, thank you.”

Usually he’d settle for a Pina Colada, a Martini or Sex On The Beach, but Y/N realises he’s made progress. Perhaps it’s because of her. Or because he can’t live without her and the things stopping him are alcohol, cigarettes, parties and drugs. The waitress walks away with their orders, and they’re left alone outside in the sun.

“Nice choice.” Y/N states with a slight grin, looking at him cheekily. Roger shrugs.

“Guess I’m a different man than I was.” He replies and they both chuckle. Perhaps he’s not telling the whole truth, because that’s what he decided just today - he’s going to change. “So,” Roger leans onto the table, his arms crossed over one another, “how have you been?”

Without you? Miserable. “Well,” Y/N starts to say and then leans more onto the table as well, “I’ve been keeping up with work because I no longer have any distractions, and I’ve had time to develop my creative work.”

“Really? What have you done?” Roger asks, excited to hear if she’s started painting or writing. 

“It’s not much, but some drawings and poetry.” Y/N answers. “Ah, it’s not poetry if none of the lines have rhymes! It’s just rubbish.”

“Now, don’t do that, love.” He encourages. “Anything you do is magnificent. Hope you’ll show me some of that rubbish one day.”

“You don’t wanna read it.” Y/N retorts. “It’s not enjoyable.”

“I can't—and neither can you—say so until I’ve read them.” Roger insists, and the waitress comes just in time to bring their orders. Both of them have to lean back into their chairs so that she’d have place on the table to place their orders.

After the waitress leaves, Y/N shoots Roger a short shy look, her cheeks blushing a tint of pink. She leans towards her milkshake and plays with the straw, looking at Roger. “So how have you been?” She asks Roger, making his eyes drift up from her hand to her eyes.

“Uhm,” his voice cracks a little and he clears his throat, “shows and some new music. That’s really all that has been going on since…” Roger looks out into the distance, his hand touching his dry lips slightly.

“Roger, I asked you how you’ve been, not what’s been… happening.” Y/N says and her look is a little devastated. Roger sighs and looks at her for a short moment before his eyes and head go down, tired, really.

“Fuck, I—“ his voice breaks again, “I—I—I can’t, uh… I can’t live without you.” Roger finally looks at Y/N and the look on his face makes her heart break, and she wants to cry. “I’ve been horrible. At shows, I give my best but the lads are still a little disappointed, and then afterwards I drink or get high, and then sleep the next day away. I don’t… I don’t know how to live normally when you’re…”

Tears slip down Y/N’s cheeks and she quickly grabs Roger’s hand, holding it so tight in her grip that she fears it might break his knuckles. But Roger’s numb as the love of his life holds onto his hand. He looks at her.

“Roger…” she drifts off because she doesn’t know what to say to him. 

“And I didn’t want to tell you because I fear that you don’t love me anymore, maybe you’ve found someone else and my phonecalls were getting on your nerves and I just…” Roger flails his free arm around, “I missed you so much I didn’t know where to put myself, and I took drugs and alcohol, thinking they’d help me forget about you, but they only worked for a while.” There is a pause. “I can’t live without you anymore. I don’t know how to live if you’re not here.” He says. Y/N listened and she nodded, his words making her cry. 

She doesn’t know what to say for a while, and after a few minutes Roger wants to speak up, thinking that Y/N doesn’t feel the same way, but she speaks first, beating him to it. “I’m sorry…” she is interrupted by a wheeze of her own, “I’m sorry for ever breaking up with you, I only thought it would hurt me less, and that was so egoistic and sounds so stupid when I say it out loud! I never…” she calms her erratic breaths and cries, “I never wanted to hurt you like I apparently did.” She pauses and pulls her sunglasses off with her free hand. “I am so, so sorry.” Y/N’s looking Roger in his beautiful eyes and she sees relief and… 

“I forgive you.” Roger says and suddenly stands up. Y/N is so tied to him that she stands up right after him instinctively. They step closer to each other so their faces are barely not touching. “I forgive you, and I never thought badly of you. Never.” 

And suddenly, he’s pulling her in for a steamy kiss, grabbing her face by the cheeks, not minding if any strands of hair are in the way. Y/N gasps through her nose out of shock and then leans herself towards Roger, both of them almost losing balance. Her arms immediately link around his neck, pulling him as close to her again.

She missed this everyday. His lips, his breath on her skin, his hands, his touches, his voice, his emotions. Y/N hadn’t even realised half of the things she was missing of Roger.

They both feel each other’s tears streaming down their faces, tasting salt in the kisses and they’re tears of happiness. Y/N giggles, and it breaks the kiss but Roger would want nothing more than to see her smile because of him and his face breaks out in a smile, as well. He has the widest smile on his face Y/N has ever seen him wear. 

“I am never leaving you again.” Y/N says quietly to him and touches Roger’s nose with her finger. She then caresses his cheek and kisses him again. “And that’s a promise.”

“You won’t be able to.” Roger replies and Y/N raises her eyebrows in question, tilting her head back a little. “If you haven’t forgotten, these hands are quicker than lightning.”

Y/N laughs, tilting her head back fully. “Don’t doubt my memory of you, Roger Taylor.”

The pair sit down at their table after some fooling around and finally eat their cake and drink their milkshakes. The sun shines down on them through their sunglasses as they’re smiling at each other and talking about different things. Few of the waitresses are meltin in awe, seeing Roger and Y/N reunited and being loving towards each other. All was well.

The end!


End file.
